


The Cabin on the Lake

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel/Dean Winchester Wing Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Future Fic, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Melancholy, Monsters, Psychological Horror, Sad, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 22,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: The Winchester brothers are long lost to history. The angel keeps the vigil, haunted by the shadows of his regrets.Among other things.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 116
Kudos: 103





	1. The Cabin

The door to the cabin opened. 

Keys clinked loudly against the ceramic dish on the side table by the door.

The man in the old tan trenchcoat closed the door with a sigh.

It was 2152. The Winchesters were long dead.

Castiel, somewhere between an angel and a human, was the one who kept vigil. 

Doing what Dean had dreamed:

saving people, hunting things, the family business.

Dean, the man he had rescued from Hell.

Dean, who first made him question, and then rebel.

Dean, who became his friend. Then his best friend.

Dean, who never knew how Castiel had wished for more.

Angels aren't supposed to dream. Or want. Or desire.

But Castiel had always been different.

He had never known the exquisite, sweet pain of being so close and yet so far away.

Castiel had wriggled out of his deal with the Empty by tearing out his own wings. 

His angelic nature had not changed, and so he had not changed, but he was caught here between two worlds forever.

The sacrifice got him one more year with Jack, who was killed in a run-of-the-mill salt-and-burn. He still ached to think of the boy, for all intents and purposes, his son. It taught him the fragility of life, and how precious it could be - and how precarious.

Sam remained with them for a while, after the big showdown with Chuck, but eventually drifted away to have a family of his own with Eileen. They lived to a respectable old age, because they left the life. They were long gone now, but a natural death was what every hunter dreamed of, and Sam had found happiness with Eileen. Castiel was thankful that they had finally retired to an _apple pie life_ , as Sam often put it. Despite always trying to convince his brother that he, too, should pursue such a life, it was clear to Castiel that this was something Sam wanted, and because Sam wanted it, he assumed that Dean did, too. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Dean wanted to drive. Dean wanted to hunt. Dean wanted to be a drifter forever.

Dean just didn't want to do it alone.

So Castiel went with him, after Sam had chosen a quiet retirement. 

Because Castiel was Dean's. Not that he ever said as much aloud. Not that he ever broached the topic of anything past their oddly intense friendship. He didn't know how Dean would react and he couldn't bear being sent away again.

He'd had Dean for five wonderful years.

One day, out of the blue, just as Dean neared his fiftieth birthday, he was headed back to the motel from the store.

"You gotta try this pie, Cas," he was saying. "Best tasting molecules in the state, maybe the country. I swear."

"I look forward to it," said Castiel.

"You better," said Dean, and by the warm, honeyed tone of his voice, Castiel could visualize his sweet smile. Dean's hair had gone gray in the way of the fair-haired, lighter and lighter. Despite this, and a few extra wrinkles and crows' feet, Dean was still blindingly handsome.

Or maybe, that was just to Castiel.

He replayed that inane conversation over and over in his head in the years afterwards.

The car accident. The phone call. The police. 

Castiel was numb. He couldn't heal much more than a papercut these days. 

He also couldn't bring someone back from the dead.

For years, he investigated every angle of the accident. Truck came out of nowhere and T-boned the Impala, so reminiscent of the first time Dean had told him about that Castiel was certain it was down to demonic influence, to some kind of supernatural intervention.

After a while, it became more and more apparent that this was just something that had happened.

So very human. So normal. 

Natural.

Castiel, the half-fallen angel, could not reconcile this normal, unfortunate event with the hollow it had torn from his heart.

***

But the world still needed saving. Once fixed, Baby needed driving - because Castiel was _not_ going to let her die, too.

***

Castiel walked out to the end of the dock, stripping off his clothes as he went.

Standing out underneath the sunshine, he paused for a moment, then dove out and down into the clear blue water. 

He could have gone anywhere. Could have been rich, famous, successful, anything he wanted.

But that didn't sit right with him.

Now that Sam and Dean were no longer here to do it, somebody had to save the world, piece by piece.

He surfaced with a splash, and treaded water as he looked around the forest that surrounded the lake. It was beautiful and peaceful here. He'd rented the cabin from the local family that owned the general store in the little town nearby. But Castiel wanted solitude. He was the angel of solitude, after all.

He floated on his back and swam in lazy strokes across the lake. Although this body was nothing like his real body, he wanted to keep it in good form and health. He had already seen the ravages of wasting illness on the human form and wanted to avoid it if possible. He did not know how long his dwindling angelic powers would last.

Castiel had been alone a long time before the Winchesters, and looked likely to remain alone a long time afterward. Time moved so much more slowly here, in this dimension. All of his friends were gone, and he eventually didn't bother trying to make more, just to lose them in the end.

The curse of immortality, he supposed.

***

Castiel swam back to the dock and hoisted himself up onto it.

He sat there, drying off in the sun.

He let his mind drift back again, as he often did, revisiting his favorite memories when he thought he could afford the luxury.

Classic rock music on the radio, now so old it might be called _classical._

A warm summer's day in the Impala.

Dean almost - _almost -_ touching his hand across the bench seat, as if he really wanted to but didn't quite dare.

That brilliant, heartbreaking, beautiful smile.

" _Dean,_ " sighed Castiel, content within the memory, imbuing Dean's name with all the love and the passion he wished he'd been brave enough to utter back then.

Then Castiel froze.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

He had the terrible sensation that there was someone or something right behind him.

He slowly brought his feet up to the dock from where they had been dangling in the water.

In one explosive movement, Castiel spun and turned, keeping his head down -

to be faced with nothing but an empty dock behind him and the rust-red cabin with the peeling flakes of white paint around the windowsills looking back at him.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. The sense that the cabin was _looking_ at him suddenly intensified, and then slowly faded away. Birdsong and cicadas returned, although he wasn't certain if they had stopped or he just hadn't noticed them until the moment he was searching for their absence.

The angel's shoulders drooped and he sighed.

"Sometimes, it really is all in your head," he muttered to himself. "I've been doing this for too long."

***

That night, Castiel put a rosary in a jar of holy water underneath his bed, just in case.

He'd long since learned that you can never be too careful.


	2. The Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: graphic violence

_The screams had already scraped Castiel's throat raw._

_Digging in, and cutting, and pulling tendons until they snapped with the knife, his hands slick with blood as he got them around the bone and **pulled.**_

_A wing, great and black, bloody and lifeless on the ground behind him._

_He was sobbing and screaming and the tears wet his face as he tried to wipe them away and smeared blood across his cheek._

_"Cas, Cas," came Dean's voice, that voice that had comforted Sam all his life, that voice that had made it known that there would be someone standing sentinel in the dark, and Castiel thought crazily that they were not so different, were they, as Dean crouched down and cupped his face in his hands, and for a dizzying moment Castiel thought he was going to be kissed._

_"Shhh, shhh," Dean soothed, but Castiel could see the horror and grief in his eyes where tears welled up and were starting to fall._

_"I can't do it," Castiel confessed between sobs. "Dean, it hurts."_

_"You don't have to do it," said Dean. "You don't, Cas."_

_Castiel looked at him, exhausted, but focused on those bright green eyes._

_"I have to," he said._

_"You don't," insisted Dean._

_Castiel shook his head._

_Then -_

_"I could do it for you."_

_"You can't. It's something I have to do for myself."_

_Dean's bright green eyes got brighter. Whether it was the tears, or the determination, Castiel didn't know._

_"Then I'll stay here with you," Dean promised. "Until."_

_And he took Castiel's hand, and held it._

_The angel summoned the strength to cut into the other wing, dig at the base, to cut it away and to snap the bone from its socket. Dean just stayed there, watching, tears falling freely now and Castiel thought the tears were like waterfalls in a forest, the green of his eyes and the stars of his freckles like a map to every natural beauty the Creator had imagined, spinning out beyond the galaxies both known and unknown -_

_-and he dug, and cut, and screamed as his bloodslick fingers found purchase deep in among the bone -_

_-and he thought, Castiel thought, Castiel the Angel of the Lord thought, the warrior of Heaven thought -_

_-in the world, there are many secret paradises. Tropical atolls. Oases in deserts, where the thirsty come to drink. Clear mountain pools and streams untouched by man for thousands of years. Palaces built by the great, half-ruins in the sunset. And beyond, beyond the Earth and beyond the ken of those who lived and died there, the secret paradises of other planets, of other galaxies, of Heaven itself, the strange purple suns and inverted cliffs and things that could not be described in Earth languages of any kind -_

_-and as he ripped that final bone from its socket on a scream that would go on and on in his memory, following him through time, as he threw the bloody feathered stump on the ground and fell to his knees, head bowed in a pantomime of prayer, as Dean took his bloody hands and held them, and just kept holding them, the first time they had ever touched for this long -_

_Castiel thought, and Castiel knew, there was no secret paradise in the universe like Dean Winchester._

***

Castiel woke, rubbing his eyes. He slept now, and frequently.

He'd had the dream again. One that many might think a nightmare, but for Castiel it was a comfort. His sacrifice. His choice and free will. For humanity.

But _you wrapped yourself in the flag of Heaven, but it was really all for one human -_

_For Dean. For Dean. Always, and forever._

Castiel could live with it, now.

***

He stood in the kitchen making coffee. There was something delicious and dark about it that he loved.

It also reminded him of Dean, and what an angry sleeper he was, and how badly Castiel had wanted to soothe him, to bring him peace, and in his more daring moments, to touch him until he fell apart beneath his hands.

Castiel was not human, but the things he had wanted from Dean -

oh, they were human enough.

He sipped his coffee, listening to the loons call along the lake. He smiled softly.

Because as much as he had dared, and hoped, and dreamed about those possibilities with Dean-

he had never done anything. Not even now, using those fantasies and memories. He had never brought himself off. 

It had been an aescetic choice. Almost as if he were saving himself for something.

He smiled again ruefully.

Something that had never come to pass.

Somehow, he kept telling himself, _not yet. It's not the right time._

And, well.

To an angel, a century isn't very long at all.

***

Castiel stepped into the shower.

The hot water sluiced down his back.

_Maybe today._

_Maybe today I will._

_Maybe this is the morning I -_

Castiel went through this ritual every single day.

He wondered if he was shy, or feared being disrespectful to Dean's memory.

He wondered if Dean could see him, out there somewhere.

But Castiel knew how Heaven worked and that was not possible. 

And Castiel knew that Dean was in Heaven, with Sam.

He turned beneath the spray and bowed his head, bracing himself on the wall with one hand.

Imagined the ghosting of lips at the base of his neck, imagined Dean's arm encircling his hips.

Imagined Dean, pressing up against him, whispering filth into his ear.

_C'mon, angel. I wanna see it._

Shy, and a little frightened, Castiel grazed his cock with his fingertips. 

It swelled in response, neglected for so long.

He wondered if he really dared to do this after all this time.

And why now, on this morning like all other mornings?

He imagined Dean dropping a soft kiss to the edge of his ear, whispering

_That's it. Fuck. Just like that._

Castiel's heartbeat sped up as he wrapped his hand around his cock and started to jack himself slowly, as if giving himself time to opt out. But just that touch had sensation zinging around his body, a tingling _want_ he could feel in the soles of his feet as his toes curled hard against the floor of the shower.

He became aware of the deep moans that were emanating from his chest, and his throat, almost without his permission, sounds that tumbled out into the water helplessly, like those screams from long ago. But there was no pain or terror here, only pleasure that stoked higher as he chased that very first high.

_Look at you. It's been so long. C'mon, sweetheart. I'm right here._

And Castiel, swept away in the deluge, surrendered to the wave, as his lips dropped a chant of _Dean, Dean, Dean,_ a litany that made the water holy, a word that would never lose its worshipful meaning -

and for a split second, just as his mouth dropped open, as the crescendo of pleasure was held on the precipice -

Castiel could _swear_ that he felt strong arms around him, holding him, chest slicked wet and pressed against his back, the hard line of a cock against his ass, and a body he knew well because he he had carved and rebuilt it himself -

the tsunami hit, and that sensation, that surety, was lost in the garbled sobs and cries and the bright blue flash from his eyes as he came for the first time with Dean's name on his lips and crashed into the shower wall, collapsing to the floor afterward as the intensity of it ebbed away.

Castiel sat dumbfounded and without a thought in his head on the shower floor as the water ran down across the tiles. He panted and tried to get his thoughts back together as he stared into the middle distance and wondered, if he'd just been brave enough back then, what it might have felt like for the two of them together -

when a voice echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the shower walls:

" _Fuck, Cas._ "

Alarmed, Castiel scrambled to his feet. He would know that deep baritone anywhere.

He opened the shower door and peered outside.

There was no one.

Hesitant, and mad, and hopeful, Castiel said:

"Dean?"


	3. Modern Life

Days passed.

Castiel wondered if he had been hearing things he wanted to hear.

But the thing was -

nobody said _fuck_ anymore. 

It was old-fashioned and strange, the kind of thing that even grandparents found hokey these days.

but _oh,_ to hear it dripping in a rough growl from Dean's lips -

that had been one of Castiel's fantasies from the start.

A delicious shudder went up his spine as he thought of it, the once-upon-a-time sheer _naughtiness_ of it, especially for him, as a once-upon-a-time angel.

But things change. Today, that word had fallen out of use. It was no longer offensive, and it was no longer used, giving way to new and innovative ways of cursing.

But Dean was a man of his time, and so Castiel had imagined how it would be, if they could have- 

if Castiel was only brave enough.

If Dean had been brave enough. But even there, Castiel was never certain of Dean's affection. Not in that way. So he had suffered, and longed for him, waiting for the right moment, until he had unexpectedly run out of road.

He'd always thought, _there will be more time._

He should have known better. He was an angel, once. He had seen everything.

And one of those things was that humans always thought they would have more time.

He'd certainly learned it, with losing Jack so unexpectedly. And how Dean, in his own gruff way, had supported Castiel through a grief that seemed so deep and endless, Castiel could not imagine a way out, or a day out.

But Dean said it would get better. Little by little. And that feeling better was not disrespecting Jack's memory, but honoring it.

And Dean, as was often the case when it came to human things, had been right.

Dean, though -

he always seemed untouchable. Immortal. The man who always came back from the dead. Sam too.

Until the time that dead meant dead for the both of them.

And Castiel thought his grief over Jack was the worst he would ever experience.

The grief over losing Dean, well -

over a century later, and he still hadn't climbed out of that pit. Not really.

Sure, he did his job. He did what he could. He saved who he could.

But he always came back to this cabin, alone, to live among his memories.

For the angel Castiel, there was none other than Dean Winchester in this world or any other.

In all the billions of years of his existence, and in the years he was blessed with Dean's company until now, there was only, and forever, Dean.

***

Castiel was investigating a case a couple of states over. He walked among the people around him like a ghost.

Many were out walking their pet dinosaurs. Small herbivores only. All children were made to watch every film in the _Jurassic Park_ franchise, which was still running as an educational series on television. No carnivores, no dinosaurs larger than a small dog, along with various other laws and regulations. 

Castiel wondered what Sam and Dean might have thought about this development. He smiled as he imagined Sam begging his brother for a pet dinosaur because _they're hypoallergenic, Dean, please can we get one?_ and Dean grousing that Sam would have to promise to take care of it, that he didn't want one, etc. Then to later find Dean teaching it tricks and letting it sleep on his bed.

The angel sighed. All such dreams of happy domesticity within the context of their lives were foolish, of course, but there wasn't a day that he didn't think of the brothers and how he missed them. Everything reminded him of them, and of a past he had left behind.

He had known, of course, the foolishness of it, their short lives compared with his long one. Dean had once showed him a strange, yet intriguing television show called _Highlander_. There were a lot of swords and lightning, but the salient part of the show was the story of the immortals and the question, occasionally posited by a rock band called _Queen_ , _Who Wants to Live Forever?_

This became Castiel's favorite song. Dean asked him about it sometimes, but Castiel just shook his head and played it on repeat. Dean approved of the song and band choice but the angel assumed that he had no idea why it had affected Castiel so much.

_Because I know my time with you is short, my love,_ Castiel thought at him, as he watched those flannel-clad shoulders walk out the door of his room, as he watched those green eyes light up in laughter, shaking his head at _classic Cas, you know that?_ the blazing-bright smile Castiel hoped to capture one day for his own.

_My love, my love,_ Castiel chanted in his private thoughts that were safe because Dean would never hear them. The Biblical poetry, the songs of the stars, the things that Castiel sang in his own mind because angels sing about the things they worship.

***

The job had been a quick one. Castiel didn't have much power left, but smiting a demon wasn't that difficult for him.

The job itself had become boring. There wasn't much out there that changed things for Castiel. All was rote. All was dull. He had sacrificed his wings for a few more years with Dean. Anything else without him was monochrome.

And if he could do it all over again, he'd do the same thing.

Castiel pushed the screen door of the cabin open, shedding his coat, his shirt, his pants, until he stood naked in the middle of the combination kitchen/living/dining room. The place was very old, and small, the wood tired and worn. But Castiel loved the place, because it was the first place that belonged to him alone.

He did a quarter-turn and looked at the table and chairs.

They had moved. He was sure of it.

He narrowed his eyes. They _looked_ normal, from here. But he was sure they hadn't been that close to the window, before.

Had someone been in the cabin?

Then, the word he had placed all his faith in, uttered in a hopeful growl from his throat:

"Dean?" he said aloud. "Are you here? Is that you?"

He turned again. He was not rewarded with Dean or anything that looked like it could be Dean.

Then, he saw something, deep in the shadows, at the distant end of the hallway.

Black as ink, flowing briefly in the warm darkness.

Slowly, he backed up and slid a hand into his bag, searching for the salt.

But Castiel was no fool.

He'd never seen anything like it before. Cataloguing things in his head, Leviathan, ghosts, ghouls, monsters, none of them fit the thing he was seeing now.

His hand closed around the salt.

The thing crept closer.


	4. Stairway

_He never loved you, you know that? Not like you loved him. You sacrificed everything,_ **everything** , _for him, things he could not even dream -_

Castiel groaned, as he slipped further.

- _and what did you get? A broken, mean alcoholic who saw you as a useful tool and threw you away when you were no longer useful to him._

Castiel had argued against these thoughts for years. Now they seemed likely to eat him alive.

Then -

Then, there was a light in all that darkness.

A bright, buttery, golden light that seemed to fill in every jaded corner of his heart.

And Castiel was rising, rising rapidly toward the surface, saved from drowning as he had once saved Dean from Hell, so very long ago -

and suddenly, Castiel was seated in the main room of the cabin, panting and jittery, but _safe_ and _alive_ as whatever monster had infiltrated his safe house had finally let him go.

He stared dumbfounded at the figure seated in the window-box, the golden glow of him, the beautiful wings, the sheer Peter-Pan-boyish joy radiating off him -

as Dean said, "Cas, how come you never told me there was an actual stairway to heaven? _Stairway,_ man! Awesome."

Castiel stared, uncomprehending, at Dean, who turned to look at him with a bright grin.

It was all too much.

Castiel passed out.

***

"Cas?" 

Someone was shaking him. He did not want to leave this dream, where he had seen Dean's beautiful, beloved features once again. Nightmares were common, but dreams where Dean saved him as he had once saved Dean were vanishingly rare.

"Cas! C'mon, throw me a bone here."

But that was _Dean's voice_ and _Dean's hands_ and _it hadn't been a dream..._

Castiel opened his eyes.

And there stood Dean, glowing gold.

He grinned again, and Castiel thought _so this is why I fell,_ as he gazed into that handsome face for the first time in over a century.

"Dean," he croaked, and there was so much in that one word, love and longing and grief, that Dean's expression softened.

"Yeah, buddy," said Dean. "I'm here."

Castiel sat up, and then without any shame at all, crushed Dean against him in a hug.

"Whoa!" Dean said. "I missed you too."

Dean was shirtless and swathed in the kind of togalike clothing angels had used back during the swords-and-sandals days. Castiel gave it a questioning look.

"What?" said Dean, a little defensively. "It's comfortable."

Things were so unbelievable that Castiel was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

"And, uh," said Dean. "I'm all, uh, glowy, because they said it was a _psychic manifestation of my soul._ I guess that means something to you, because I'm lost - hey hey hey whoa - "

Castiel had buried his face in his hands. His body hitched with silent sobs. Dean pushed himself off the ledge and went to kneel in front of Castiel.

"What's wrong?" asked Dean. "Thought you'd be glad to see me?"

"I am," said Castiel. "Oh, Dean. I have longed for this - but why?"

"Why what?"

"Why now?" Castiel said, voice deep with grief. "If you were an angel all this time, and you could sense longing, why have you waited so long to come to me?"

"Oh," said Dean. "I, uh. I got an upgrade."

He glanced at the wings doubtfully.

"So they say."

Then he put a hand on Castiel's knee. Castiel felt it like lightning.

"Buddy, if I could've been here sooner," said Dean, shaking his head. "But they gave me the wings a few days ago and I got here as quick as I could, Cas. Took me a while to figure out some of the rules, how to do - uh - some things, but I got here."

Miserable, Castiel stared at him.

"Why?" he asked again. "You were in Heaven. You had Sam. I'm just -here. On Earth. Alone."

"Honestly, Cas, how can you ask that?" said Dean. "Sammy can take care of himself. He's safe, and I ain't worried about him for the first time since I can remember. An' it's _because_ you're down here alone."

They stared at each other, the words at the front of Castiel's mouth, tip of his tongue, held back by his lips. How many times had he hoped for this encounter, just a few moments with Dean, so he could tell him how he felt, so he could -

but Dean's actual presence made him strangely mute, and shy again, so instead he said:

"Is there a reason you chose today?"

Dean nodded.

"Somethin's hunting you," said Dean. "Somethin' big. So they strapped some wings on my back and told me to come and help you out."

Castiel could tell, just by the way Dean's eyes flicked toward something off in the middle distance, that he wasn't being entirely honest.

But the relief that flooded through Castiel meant that it didn't matter to him, and that he would take whatever he could get.

"It ain't easy, bein' an angel," said Dean. His smile was infectious. Castiel smiled in return.

Castiel did not tell him that the bits of bone left over from when he tore out his wings for Dean still hurt almost every time he moved. Sometimes they'd wake him up at night. For Castiel, he had paid for his love with an eternity of suffering.

But seeing those bright green eyes again, especially seeing Dean in the guise of an angel again, made Castiel's breath catch in his throat even after all this time.

"So let's get to researching what this thing is, and how to kill it," said Dean. "The sooner we gank it, the sooner we can hang out and have a beer."

Castiel was just staring at Dean.

"Cas?" teased Dean, trying to lighten the mood. "You with me?"

Castiel gave him a subtle nod.

"Guess this time you're the hunter and I'm the angel."


	5. Research

"Not that I'm complainin' or anythin'," said Dean in a measured drawl, "but you might wanna think about putting some pants on."

"Oh!" Castiel startled. "My apologies. I had quite forgotten."

When Castiel returned, he found Dean staring at his computer, puzzled.

"Where's the on switch?" he asked.

Castiel smiled. How he had missed this.

How he had missed Dean.

"There isn't one," said Castiel, sat down in front of it, and it turned on by itself.

Dean let out a low whistle.

"Maybe I'll let you handle the tech," said Dean. "I'm a little rusty."

Dean stared at Castiel for a while. Castiel stared back.

"Research," Castiel said gruffly. Dean snapped out of it.

"Right, right," said Dean. "Research. I'll, uh. I'll make some coffee?"

"Yes, please," said Castiel.

And he was sitting at the table, sifting through the information on his computer as Dean was in the kitchen humming some old rock song. It felt so domestic, so _familiar,_ that Castiel just turned to watch Dean work, to watch those brilliant golden wings as they moved with and around their host. Castiel was an angel, and as such, Dean's wings were the most alluring thing about him.

Well. That was not entirely true. But since the wings were a manifestation of his soul, Castiel couldn't help it. He was enraptured.

When Dean turned around with the mugs of coffee in his hands, his brow furrowed and he gave Cas an angry pout that Castiel immediately wanted to kiss off his face. Flashes of the man beneath him, those pretty lips open and issuing sounds of pleasure that Castiel had coaxed from him, stroking his wings, filling the room with gold like sunlight pouring through a window, and Castiel knew, of course, that Dean could not have known pleasure like the kind Castiel suddenly, intensely, wanted to give him -

"Hey. No fair bein' lazy. I ain't gonna be the only one workin' around here."

Castiel did not answer, but accepted the mug of coffee gratefully. He tried to push the lascivious thoughts from his mind, and mostly succeeded.

But Castiel had been alone for so long, and had _wanted_ for so long, working with the distraction of Dean leaning close to peer at the information on the screen -

well, these days, Castiel was almost human.

"Okay," said Dean, sipping from his mug and sighing. "Damn. Forgot how good this stuff was. _Damn._ "

Castiel was having a very hard time wondering how incredibly responsive Dean might be by this point, if he was reacting this way to regular coffee. And whether those wings would be as sensitive as they were on younger angels. Castiel remembered his own young adult years, and he'd had time to grow into them. 

He shook his head, trying to rid it of any and all fantasies.

_Easier said than done,_ as Dean used to say.

"Let's start from the top," said Dean. "What's been happening around here?"

"Since - " Castiel cleared his throat, unable to ask _since you died, or more recently?_

But it seemed that Dean understood, because he quickly picked up the thread where Castiel had dropped it.

"Just, the last little while," said Dean, a slight wobble in his voice. Castiel wondered at it.

"Well, I had the distinct impression the cabin was watching me, a few days back," Castiel began. "Normally, I'd say it was nothing, but in our line of work - "

"It's never nothing, yeah," Dean agreed. "Then what?"

Castiel hesitated. He wasn't certain whether he should admit this or not, especially if it hadn't happened.

Maybe, especially, if it had.

"I heard a voice," Castiel admitted.

"Like a ghost?"

"I thought so at the time."

"What voice?"

"Yours."

Castiel glanced at Dean, who was now blushing, and Castiel noted with interest that the blush had pinked his bare chest.

"Uh - i - is that so," Dean stammered. "What, uh, what did it - what did I say?"

Castiel now held his gaze.

"You said _fuck, Cas_ ," he growled.

This time Castiel was certain of it - Dean's eyes rolled back into his head and his eyes fluttered shut, as the word _fuck_ dropped from his lips.

The atmosphere in the cabin suddenly felt charged. The sense of potential, of anything might happen, flooded through Castiel just as his grace still did, and he was intoxicated with it.

"The, uh," said Dean, trying to regain his footing in the conversation, "Did anything else happen?"

Castiel blinked. There were other matters to attend to, certainly, but he often wondered if their constant distraction meant that they would never get the chance to talk about this thing between them they'd been dancing around all these years, until they never got to talk about it at all, and his mind was filled with missed opportunities and lost chances when he said:

"Nightmares. And this dark shadow-thing, when I came into the cabin today, I think it was feeding on me."

"Feeding on what? Fear?" asked Dean.

"Self-hatred. Grief."

_Anger. For what I lost, what I sacrificed. Why did you leave me?_

_Why didn't you try harder to return to me?_

_I was_ **_alone_ ** _here, Dean, and slowly, slowly dying, with nothing but memory and regret._

"I don't know, it was - dark," he said aloud. "And then there you were. Like looking into the sun."

Dean barked a laugh.

"You know, there was this one time - " he said, then shook his head. "Later. Okay, is that everything? Can you remember anything else? Anything at all."

Castiel frowned.

"I was _sure_ the table and chairs had moved," said Castiel.

Dean looked at the table and chairs where they were sitting.

"Are you sure?"

"I thought so, but I can't be certain."

"Okay," said Dean. "Then we have something to go on. Have you lost weight at all? Could be a joint-halver."

"No," said Castiel. "I keep myself fit."

Dean smirked.

"Yeah, I kinda noticed," he said, and Castiel noted that the tips of his ears turned pink.

Castiel catalogued everything in his mind for use later. He was not called a tactician for nothing.

"Anyway," Dean pushed onward, "then something else, maybe something that feeds on its victims. Not a djinn, or a vampire. What kind of thing eats grief?"

Castiel just stared at Dean. It was as if all that time had never passed. 

He knew the case was an important one.

He knew that Dean's mission mattered a great deal, or he would not have been sent here to help.

But Castiel also knew that once the mission ended, it was entirely possible that Dean would leave him alone again. He knew that time ran out when you least expected it, and there were so many things left unsaid, undone, unspoken. 

"Cas? Somethin' wrong with your - mmmphf!"

Castiel had yanked Dean forward by the fabric of his clothing and planted a kiss on his lips.


	6. Wings

_Perfect._

That was all he could think of, Castiel had lived for eons and this was the highlight of it all.

But he made it brief, and stepped back respectfully, knowing that he would cherish that memory of a stolen kiss forever. It would last him a few more centuries, at least.

But damn it, Castiel was greedy. He wanted more.

"Cas?" said Dean, in a dreamy voice, eyes drifting open. "What - what?"

"My apologies, Dean," Castiel said. "I've waited far too long to do that, and as I once told you, my _people skills are rusty._ So much more so than they were the last time I spoke those words to you. Shall we return to the research?"

"Fuck the research," said Dean, with feeling, and set down his mug of coffee. He cradled Castiel's face in his hands, and then Dean was kissing him, full and sweet, with a sensual vulnerability Castiel could feel throughout his entire body. 

Dean was always so open, wearing his heart on his sleeve while trying to hide it with bluster, and Castiel could taste the need in him, that softness as he kissed underlined with a sexual charge he found himself responding to in little breathless moans he couldn't help but make against Dean's sinful mouth.

"Oh, God, Cas," chanted Dean softly as they broke apart, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you?" asked Castiel pointedly.

"Touché," said Dean, and they were kissing again, and Dean had climbed into Castiel's lap.

Castiel stared up at the beautiful golden wings, aching to touch them. Dean noticed, and his smile grew sharp.

"Like what you see?"

"Very much."

Dean spread his wings and gave Castiel a coy look. Castiel panted as a shudder of want licked up his spine. 

Then he thought:

_Wings tend to express emotion, desire, vulnerability, and -_

"Kiss me," Castiel commanded. The wings dipped toward him.

A grin spread across Castiel's face as Dean gave the wings a puzzled look.

"I didn't do that," he said, confused.

"Wings," Castiel said, reaching out to trail a finger along one of Dean's flight feathers, making him shiver involuntarily, "are, as you were told, your _essence._ They communicate on a higher plane. I thought - my -"

Here, he took a deep breath. Even talking about his wings could be difficult.

"My wings are long gone, so I didn't know if yours would recognize me as - " Castiel was finding it harder to explain as he went on, because Dean's wings bowed flat toward him and his breath caught.

"As what?" asked Dean. "Why're they doin' that, Cas?"

"Your elder," said Castiel, hungrily. "Your superior."

"You ain't _superior_ ," scoffed Dean, but the wings bowed and splayed out even more, and the tightness of Dean's voice communicated something else entirely.

"It seems your wings disagree," murmured Castiel.

"You wanna take me to bed, old man?" teased Dean.

Castiel looked up at him and circled Dean's waist with his arm.

"I would be honored. I have much to teach you."

Dean grinned.

"Then lead the way, Teach," he said.

Growling, Castiel stood, still holding onto Dean, and hefted him up against his hips.

"Aw, Cas," said Dean, embarrassed.

"Hush, now," Castiel admonished. "Tuck in your wings, young one. Let me show you."

Dean buried his face in Castiel's neck and did as he was told.

***

In the bedroom, Dean's back was covered in his own oil, his feathers soft and wet. 

Castiel anointed himself with the oil, bathed in it, covered his cock in it, as he jacked himself slowly watching Dean writhe and come apart on the bed.

" _Please, Castiel,_ " Dean was begging now, not knowing for what, because he did not know and could not know what he was feeling - no human had ever known it.

"Patience, beloved," murmured Castiel, and forced a hand deep into the feathers of Dean's left wing, making him sob and beg and cry out. "So sensitive. Virginal. I must be careful with you, my love."

But Dean was mad with it, wings trembling, soaked feathers and the bed beneath him. 

Castiel would carry this out for hours, even days if he had to. He treasured this gift of Dean's, and to have him at his mercy, begging _for Castiel_ \- it was too wonderful an opportunity to rush. 

"Human sensation," said Castiel, "is nothing compared to what we can feel, its intensity, its form and need."

Dean was gasping, mindless, and Castiel knew from experience that he was held at that precipice of orgasm, that wash of feeling, held pinioned there on a spike of pleasure that threatened to drive him insane. Dean was a mess, his cock dripping precome, as he made little furtive fucks almost out of reflex, his body constantly searching for and seeking release but never finding it.

Castiel grinned. He reached forward and smoothed the feathers down, then roughly yanked handfuls of them, hauling Dean backward as he _shrieked,_ a sound Castiel had never thought to hear, as his charge's voice went raw with the intensity of it, as he spiraled impossibly higher and higher under Castiel's practiced hands. Sweet torture, because Castiel knew exactly how to touch a young, sensitive angel, having been one himself once upon a time. Every time he thought he had gone as high as it was possible to go, Castiel stoked the fire even higher, until there was real danger in Dean being overwhelmed as his human perception and sensation could not withstand the onslaught forever.

"You see," murmured Castiel into his ear, as he settled Dean down over his cock and slid home with an intense groan, biting into the soft skin at Dean's shoulder. "You will never know the kind of pleasure I can give you, ever again. No other can give you this, beloved. I have trained in this, Dean, all for you. All I have ever done since we met was for you, and this is something I want you to remember:

I commanded angels.

I am Heaven's greatest strategist.

I am, in every way, your superior.

Your wings know this, and bow down before me.

Will you kneel before me, too, Dean Winchester?"

Even lost in the haze of lust, Castiel caught that stone glint in Dean's green eyes, that rebellious look that said _screw destiny right in the face_.

Castiel chuckled, softly, as he fucked into Dean.

"Good," he said. "Good. I wouldn't want you any other way, my beautiful lover. But I do love that you submit to me now, _out of your own free will and choice._ That, beloved, is the greatest blessing you could bestow."

He slid his fingers up through Dean's wings again, and Dean sobbed, tears dripping down his cheeks, as Castiel's slow, powerful thrusts made Dean's sodden wings spread wide. Castiel placed his large palm in between the wings, where the oil was weeping, and Dean's back arched.

"That's it," said Castiel in a soft voice, "There. Come on my cock, Dean. Come for me, beloved."

And that was all it took, as Dean wept helpless and his cock jerked while he came and came across himself, the bedspread, and Castiel's fingers holding tightly to his hips. Castiel lifted a hand to his mouth and licked at the hot come there, tasting him, a benediction. Castiel had expected more screams, perhaps, but now Dean had given himself over entirely, and the angel lazily fucked into him as the last aftershocks of orgasm made Dean pliant and soft. Exhausted, Dean collapsed in Castiel's arms, and Dean allowed himself to be turned over to lay on the bed and stare up at Castiel with unseeing green eyes, lost in a haze of obedience and lust.

Castiel, proud and animal, kept fucking into him slowly, as if he had nowhere to go and knowing Dean was already conquered as wholly as Castiel might have dreamed. 

Dean belonged to him now. Castiel knew this, and could take his time.

***

Some hours later, as Dean had experienced his eighth orgasm in a row, he placed a weak hand on Castiel's arm. He opened his mouth, his tongue dry and sluggish.

"Yours," whispered Dean. "Yours, Castiel."

It was Castiel's turn to cry out, and he suddenly lost control, gripping his hips tightly enough to bruise as he thrust wildly into Dean, shouting his release as he jackknifed forward over his lover's exhausted body. As he returned to himself, he was slowly aware of breathing long, shaking moans against Dean's skin as he kept slowly fucking into him, almost of his body's own volition, as he drifted downward from the high like a feather floating softly to land lightly on the bed.

They breathed.

In and out.

They lay together, spent.

"Water," Dean softly requested.

Castiel nodded against his shoulder and stood, his legs almost giving out. He caught himself against the wall and went to the kitchen, pouring them both a glass of water. He stood there in the window, bathed in golden light, as he swallowed the water down.

Castiel remarked that the light had never quite looked like this before. No shadows anywhere.

Then he carried the other glass into the bedroom and handed it to Dean. 

After he drank, he looked up at Castiel.

A new light was in his eyes.

Awe. Respect. And something more.

"C'mere," said Dean, reaching out, and Castiel went willingly.

They slept, wrapped up in each other.


	7. Shadows

Castiel opened his eyes.

He was alone.

_No. No. It wasn't a dream. It was too real._

_I don't have dreams like that._

_Not anymore._

"Dean?" he called.

The shadows grew, in the house. 

The shadows melted together, creeping toward Castiel.

He shook his head, furious at himself for letting himself believe in a dream.

He left the cabin, the screen door banging behind him, ran down the dock, and dove into the water.

It had been hot lately, and the cool water began to clear his muddied mind.

His heart ached. It was better not to dream.

After treading water a while, Castiel got out of the lake and walked back inside the cabin. He sighed. Everything looked the same. 

The shadows grew. The day turned late.

Castiel was alone. Those memories started to crowd in like shadows -

_Dean! It's not broken!_

_I'm so sorry, Dean._

Castiel's heart was heavy. His head was heavy. Any choice to leave this life had long been taken from him. Immortal, eternal, foolish Castiel.

_There's a kind of monster, like a vampire, poses as the one you love most, slowly drains you of your life force -_

Castiel huffed a laugh. As if anything could drain it further.

There were shadows on him now, there were monsters in the walls, there were memories he could not shut out that flooded through him -

and a thing, some strange thing came creeping dark and onerous, toward him.

Castiel still had his angel blade, and it still fit in his hand.

He was still a warrior, after all. He wished that he wasn't. Too much blood and death flowed in a river from his hands and beneath his feet and now he was covered in it, swimming in blood, the tally marks of all the lives he had cut short cut into his flesh and deep seared into his bones and the thing came closer -

and Castiel, because he was a warrior angel and knew nothing else, waded through the river of blood flowing through the room, his grip on his blade strong and true just as his grip on Dean had been once upon a time, and he thrust the blade into the darkness, his hands disappearing, slick with blood - 

"Cas! Cas, what the hell are you doing?! Wake up!"

Castiel's eyes blinked open, and there was Dean, all golden, wings wide, green eyes bright with fear and shock -

and Castiel's hands against his chest, an invisible blade buried in his heart.

Castiel shouted and scrambled backward, falling off the bed onto his ass and backing into the wall. The nubs beneath the skin where his wings had been flailed as if there were still wings attached, trying to soften his fall, but only made him cry out in pain and shame as they rolled beneath his skin against the wall behind him.

Until now, he had quite forgotten - but he'd had wings for such a long time it was almost instinctual to try and move them.

"You're not real!" Castiel cried, hands out, warding Dean away from him.

But Dean just sat there with a grumpy look on his face, shining golden.

"Damn," he said. "If I ain't just had the best sex of my _life,_ I'd be pissed. Gonna go with _nightmare,_ huh?"

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut.

"You're not real," he whispered again.

"Sure am," said Dean. "C'mon, Cas, it's bad enough I'm covered in gold glitter like I just got back from a rave. You really think - ah, hell."

Now Castiel was weeping openly. Dean winced as he tried to move himself gingerly to the floor and gathered Castiel up in his arms.

"'M sorry, Cas," he said quietly. "Sorry it took so long, sorry about not gettin' my head outta my ass faster. If I'd'a known you were stellar in the sack I might've done it sooner. I ain't gonna be able to walk right for weeks."

Castiel stared through his tears at Dean's bright, beloved grin.

"Dean?" he said, cautious.

"In the flesh," said Dean. "But if ya wanna keep me around you might wanna take it a little easier on me, chief. I got the wings but I ain't got the stamina, and you're vice-versa. Also, killing me in my sleep, kinda a buzzkill."

Castiel could hear the serious note behind Dean's joking tone and then wrapped his arms around Dean and held him.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," said Castiel. "I love you. If you're nothing but a figment of my imagination, or some kind of monster, I don't care. I love you, and will be with you to whatever end you take me. I am yours. I always have been."

Dean didn't reply, but Castiel felt him swallow, a click in his throat.

"Let's get up and shower," said Dean, after a time. "We still gotta kill whatever this thing is and I think we need to get some food in you. And coffee."

"Food still tastes like molecules," said Castiel in a pissy voice that made Dean bark a laugh. 

"C'mon," said Dean. "I'll wash your back, you wash mine, no funny business. Deal?"

***

As it turned out, whether or not Dean's promise had been sincere, it did not keep Castiel from pressing him into the side of the shower wall and fucking him until he sobbed his release onto the tiles.

***

"That whole, uh, angelic stamina thing," said Dean later, and Castiel was secretly proud to see that he was, indeed, walking strangely, "that's somethin' else, huh?"

Castiel glanced at him as he sifted through the information on the computer.

"In your state of undress, I am surprised that I have showed such self-control and restraint," said Castiel.

Dean spluttered into his coffee.

"That was - " he began. "You call that _self control_?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, who visibly shivered.

"You seem to be in some kind of pain," said Castiel lightly. "There's something odd about your gait. Something bothering you, Dean?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. Castiel held his gaze, but knew Dean could see the merriment there.

They did not talk about what had happened.

"All right, quit braggin'," said Dean, pulling up a chair. "Any leads?"

"There is one," said Castiel. "But you might not like it."

"Fantastic," said Dean, drinking his coffee.

"A _mara_ ," said Castiel.

"What?" said Dean, startled. "Like the Darkness?"

"No, thank goodness," said Castiel. "An old folk story. Root word for _nightmare._ In Scandinavian cultures it was believed that these creatures would press the life out of you during sleep."

"Sounds like sleep paralysis," said Dean, shaking his head. "Or night terrors. Man, I wish that the natural world wouldn't look so much like the demonic one. Gets people confused. Both ways."

"Indeed," said Castiel. "There was another thought I had considered, particularly after what happened earlier."

Dean just nodded. He clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"You're an incubus," said Castiel flatly.

"You - excuse me?" said Dean. "I - I - how could you - Cas!"

Castiel shrugged.

"I told you, you wouldn't like it."

Castiel's gaze dragged up Dean's half-clothed body.

"And I would recommend that you put something on," said Castiel. "Unless you would like to find out about my _restraint_."

Dean's eyes grew wide.

"Uh, right," he said. "We can save that for later."

He scurried off to find something more appropriate.

Castiel smiled to himself, and sipped his coffee.


	8. Break

"I, uh, I had to rip the shirt," said Dean. "Wings, man."

Castiel just stared.

Dean was dressed as he remembered him, old band t-shirt, plaid shirt, baggy ripped jeans.

Sure, he had the wings, and that golden glow, but he looked so very much _Dean_ that Castiel's heart ached just to look at him.

Castiel had the feeling that not much research would get done today.

***

Castiel was thrusting into Dean slowly. He drank his coffee, looking at the computer.

Dean was bent over the table, cock trapped against the wood, as the oil from his wings drenched the shirt he wore and his jeans were pulled down just below his ass.

"Fuck, Cas," said Dean, and Castiel placed a hand on his lower back. He took another sip of coffee.

"Hush, mine own," growled Castiel. He studied the page in front of him, then switched to the next.

Dean beneath him, whining and mewling, begging for him -

Castiel had not felt this powerful in a very long time.

And what appealed to Castiel was power. 

A thought struck him.

"Did you fantasize about this, Dean?" he asked airily, like he was commenting on the weather.

There was no answer, just sharp little intakes of breath. Castiel slapped him lightly on the ass, and Dean cried out.

"I asked you a question."

"Yeah," Dean blurted. "Yeah, 'course I did, Cas."

"Tell me."

"Tell you - "

"I want to hear your fantasies."

"Sure didn't expect this," Dean managed. "I used to - _ah!_ \- I dunno. I had this - a woman, chained down to a table, wanted to fuck her, but it was - she was - uh, kinda an excuse? Said I got her for you, as a gift, an' then -"

Castiel stopped. Dean whined again in protest.

"Why would I want that?" he asked.

"'S a fantasy, ok?" said Dean. "Anyway, she - I fucked her, an' then you were there, all shy and, and, inexperienced, so I had you fuck her, an -"

Castiel was thrilled to see the deep red blush color Dean's cheeks.

"And then?" he prompted.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said, wriggling around. "Move."

"Finish the story, and I'll move."

Dean sighed.

"So I - I - fucked you while you fucked her, okay?" Dean admitted. "An' in the fantasy, she was yelling at me, tellin' me this didn't make me straight, it was an excuse 'cause I wanted you so bad an' couldn't admit it - "

"And this was in your fantasy?" asked Castiel. "A woman taunting you about your sexuality?"

"Yeah, well," said Dean. "Later, it was, uh. Just us."

"Good, Dean," said Castiel, thrusting into him slowly again, and Dean wept in relief. "Thank you for telling me."

Castiel reached beneath a wing and twisted.

"Ow!" shouted Dean, and as Castiel knew it would, the pain turned to an exquisite pleasure. "Oh holy fuck Cas - Cas - _Castiel -_ "

"Not on the papers," Castiel said mildly, holding the wing at the joint. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, fuck, fuck _fuck -_ "

Castiel smiled, and then pressed a thumb deep into the place where the oil was welling up. Dean screamed and came all over the table, the paperwork, even himself. 

"Stay," Castiel said, and then set down his coffee mug and grabbed his hips, pressing him down against the come-soaked table, and fucked him so hard the table made dents in the wall.

And as he could feel the end approach, Castiel suddenly lay down over Dean, blanketing him, and whispered harshly through his teeth:

"You're mine, and if I had my wings I would cover yours as your dominant, mark you up so everyone knew that you belonged to me, and that you'd do whatever I asked."

Dean wriggled again, almost taunting, and Castiel slapped his ass even harder, adjusting him beneath the weight of his body and holding him still with all the angelic strength Castiel still had at his disposal.

"That's right," cooed Castiel, "Take it, fucking _take it -_ "

And with a few more powerful thrusts, he moaned through clenched teeth as he came hard, deep inside of Dean, feeling possessive and strong, powerful and capable like he had not felt since losing his wings.

The angel in him was dominant, and wanting to show off his prize and his conquest, Castiel wanted to continue - to fuck into Dean, hold onto his hips, lazy and sure, until Castiel was Dean's entire universe. 

But there was not really time for any of that, so Castiel pulled out instead, and Dean moaned at the loss of him.

"Next time," Castiel promised, "I'm going to come all over you and rub it into your skin."

Dean sighed, content.

"Now let's get back to work."

***

"Okay," said Dean. "Say you're right, and it really is this _mara_ thing. How do we stop it?"

"That appears to be a little more difficult," said Castiel. "Apart from the wings, do you have any other angelic powers?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

Castiel looked at him curiously.

"Not that I know of," said Dean. "But I'm glad you can still mojo stuff away. Sure saves on the cleaning. We're gonna have to take it easy, not sure how much more I can take. Your healing only goes so far, y'know."

"Then don't taunt me."

"I'm just sittin' here."

Castiel looked at Dean, who grinned around the pen in his mouth.

Suggestively.

"Dean - "

"Well, well, well," said a new voice.

Dean and Castiel both started up, scrambling for weapons.

"Calm down, I'm not going to smite you."

Castiel stared.

" _Gabriel?_ "

Gabriel waved his hand around.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, and all that. Whatcha doin'?"

Castiel and Dean exchanged looks.

"Never mind, don't answer that, I already know," said Gabriel, leaning against the wall and popping a sucker into his mouth. "You got the cavalry on your ass, prettyboy."

Now Castiel looked from Gabriel to Dean.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Why would Dean have -"

"You didn't tell him?" asked Gabriel, astonished. "Man! A century goes by and there's just nothin' like that patented Winchester _let's lie to each other and omit necessary information,_ is there?"

"Dean?" asked Castiel.

"He busted out," said Gabriel. "Took him long enough, lockpicks enough, some shit Ash apparently taught them once upon a time. He's a real loose cannon, that kid. Can't say I'm not impressed. Anyway, yeah. He stole a pair of wings and hightailed it to you once he finally escaped."

"So he's not an incubus?" asked Castiel, a strange tone between hope and fear in his voice.

"Cas, c'mon," said Dean, and if he'd blushed before, now he looked like a cherry tomato.

"An incubus?" laughed Gabriel, incredulous. "You thought - oh, _man,_ Castiel. I've missed you."

He shook his head.

"No, you're just incredibly repressed and Dean is, and always has been, incredibly horny," said Gabriel.

"Hey!" said Dean.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Dean," said Gabriel. "It's one of the things I deeply admire about you."

He pointed at Castiel with the sucker.

"But," he said, "and I hate to rain on what I assume has been some kind of sex parade here, but there really is a monster out there. I just wanted to find you first, because the angel warding you've got on this cabin is pretty decent but nobody can see Dean because of that artwork you put on his ribs and nobody can find you, Cas, because, well, let's face it. No angel in a millenia has done what you did and since you're not an angel but you're not human either they're having a hell of a time getting a bead on you."

"Thanks for the warning, Gabe," said Dean. "Now you wanna cut it out with the cryptic and tell us what we're dealin' with here?"

"Sorry, sugarpuff, I don't actually know," said Gabriel. "But - and I know, as a connoisseur of all things Indiana Jones, Dean, you'll love this: _you're digging in the wrong place._ "

"That's it?"

"That's all I got," said Gabriel. "And the longer I stick around, the more likely they are to find you, so I better scoot."

"Who's _they_?" asked Dean.

"Like I said," Gabriel told him. "The cavalry. A parting gift: there's something in the water."

He blinked out of sight.

Castiel and Dean stood silently together, until Castiel looked over at him.

"How long did it take you?" he asked flatly. "To break out of Heaven?"

Dean held his gaze.

"Once I knew Sam was safe?" he asked. "Ever since then, Cas. Ever since."

"Over a hundred years?" asked Castiel. Dean nodded.

"I had to get back to you."


	9. Love

The shadows in the cabin lengthened.

Castiel edged away.

"Dean," he started, but Dean lifted a hand and shook his head.

"I wasn't gonna tell you," said Dean. "I was gonna help, and then - "

"And then?"

Dean shrugged.

"Tell the truth, I didn't think that far ahead."

Castiel stared at him, as Castiel often did, brilliant, beautiful, foolish Dean.

"The shadows," he said. "It's the shadows."

Dean's eyes narrowed. There was the old warrior.

"What shadows?"

"They're coming for me."

The day was late, now, and the shadows grew across Castiel's skin.

He looked up.

The cabin was empty.

He was alone.

And alone, Castiel hung his head and wept.

_you don't think you deserve to be saved_

He would not be saved.

***

"Jesus! Cas! Castiel!"

Castiel tried to open his eyes, bleary and confused.

"Don't make me slap you."

Castiel blinked up at Dean.

Dean with wings.

"I - I - " said Castiel. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Holy crap, you scared the hell out of me," said Dean. "One second you're here, the next you're gone, man. I don't know if it's this _mara_ or whatever, but we gotta fix it, Cas."

"I don't know if it can be fixed," said Castiel. "And it seems - forgive me, Dean, but it's so much harder to believe in this world, where I get to have you, where my brother is still alive, where you look - you look like the deepest desire of an angel -"

Dean winked at him, and wiggled his wings almost as he might wiggle his eyebrows.

"You sayin' I'm hot, Cas?" he asked, grinning.

Castiel stared at him sadly and sighed.

"More than you know," he said. 

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't get to have this, Dean!" Castiel said. "Misery, regret, guilt, grief - I've done so many things I can't take back -"

"Me too," said Dean, grabbing Castiel's hands. "And you know what? We're both idiots, letting so much time get away from us, waiting so long. But I'm here, and I'm real."

Those green eyes seemed to fill the world, and the frank honesty behind them was unfamiliar.

"Castiel," he said. "I am in love with you. I have been for a long time. And yeah, I broke out of Heaven to come help you. But that was just an excuse. I broke out so I could tell you. I couldn't let it go unsaid anymore. Somethin' about Heaven kinda clears your head, and I was just so stupid. I know that people have been tellin' stories about us since forever - they still are, Cas, did you know that? Hundred years into the future, and we're still on peoples' minds. Can't say that ain't love, Cas. You can't."

Dean beamed.

"We're folklore, Castiel," he said. "Ain't that a bitch."

Trembling, Castiel gathered Dean into his arms. 

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much, Dean Winchester. With all of my being. And always will."

When the blade plunged through Dean's heart, Castiel watched the light die in those beautiful green eyes.

He dropped the knife. His hand was bloody.

It reminded him of a handprint he had left long ago.

***

"Fascinating."

Castiel whipped around to see a skeletal man sitting in the nearby armchair, calmly eating potato chips.

"These really are delicious," he said, indicating the bag. "You should try them."

Castiel sat dumbfounded beside the body of his one great love after centuries of living.

The man looked over at him.

"Whyever did you do that, Castiel?" he asked mildly.

"I -" Castiel hung his head. "He's not real."

"He very definitely _is_ real," said Death. "I've come to collect."

There was a scream buried in Castiel's throat. It had been there for years. He had never given voice to it. He felt it crawl up his vocal cords and beg to be released.

"Now, I understand that perhaps you have broken a few laws," said Death, standing and leaning against his cane. "Well. Thousands, really. Including the, shall we say, _athletic participation_ you were engaging in with Dean. What made you think he wasn't real?"

"The shadows," Castiel explained. "Every time the shadows came, they - I was alone."

"And _alone_ felt more real to you than the love of your very long life returning," nodded Death. "That is interesting, and makes sense. The effects of these strange creatures upon each other will never cease to amaze me. The fact that they still affect you, as the half-angel you are, well. Intriguing. I am sure if there were scientists who studied such things, this would be a case study."

The guilt and horror of what he had done coursed through Castiel. 

"Are you going to - " he began, and swallowed thickly through tears.

"Am I going to remove your lover?" said Death. "Tempting. He does vex me. But he also gave me pickle chips, and I cannot say that for most."

He regarded Castiel for a while.

"I find it interesting," he said, "that the both of you will do quite literally anything for each other, Castiel."

Castiel found Dean's hand and held it, although it was cold. He looked at that beloved face and nodded.

"I would," he said. "I would burn Heaven down for him. I would do anything for him. I have been alive for millions of years and - and -"

The tears threatened to fall.

"That which you have done for the least of your brothers, you have done for me," said Death. "Faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."

"Don't quote the Bible at me," groused Castiel. "I know it."

"I'm quoting myself," said Death.

Castiel froze.

Ice flowed through his veins.

He looked up, and there was something soft, and kind, in Death's eyes.

"Yes, Castiel," said Death. "My son."

Castiel's jaw dropped.

Death began to pace the room.

"And if your son asks you for a fish, should you give him a stone?" Death continued. "You are, above all the angels, the one who followed my instructions to the letter."

He reached down, and laid a hand on Dean's forehead.

Castiel watched as Dean's chest rose with his breath.

Those beautiful green eyes blinked open.

"Now, then," said Death. "I believe you have a case to solve. You're not shirking your duties so easily."

Then he looked at Dean with a small smile.

"I expect to see you around the Thanksgiving table, son-in-law," said Death. "Thanks for the pickle chips."

And he was gone.


	10. Feathers

"Death...is God."

Castiel was seated on the other side of the room, his head in his hands.

"It seems so, yes."

"Huh," said Dean, leaning back in his chair. "That ... actually makes sense. Do you think he took out Chuck?"

"I get the sense that Chuck's existence amused him," said Castiel. 

They sat there together, not speaking.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Castiel ground out.

"Hey, what's a little murder between friends?" Dean joked.

"This isn't funny," said Castiel. "I - I killed you. I can still feel your heart stop beating -"

Dean took Castiel's hand and placed his palm against his chest.

"Look, still beating," said Dean gently.

"But I -"

"Okay, okay," said Dean. "Let's not make Death come back for another round of pickle chips, all right? Yeah, you killed me. So what? I know the reason, and that's why we gotta fix this problem."

"Dean - "

"Look, I get it," Dean said. "You want to wallow. You feel bad. Believe me, I understand. But right now, that's not what we focus on. Something's got deep into your brainpan and messed it up, Cas, can't you see that? There's something weird going on here, and it's up to us to fix it."

"Why us?"

"Because it's _always_ us, man, don't you know that?" asked Dean. 

He gave Castiel a crooked grin.

"God works in mysterious ways," he said.

"Oh, shut up," grumbled Castiel, and Dean laughed.

Suddenly, Castiel hit his knees.

The pain was terrible. It radiated throughout his back and he shouted as his eyes blazed blue.

"Cas? Cas, what the hell?!" Dean shouted. "What's wrong?"

Castiel's body went taut, as if lightning had struck, and his arms and hands held out in supplication, palms up -

and with a loud, tearing, horrific sound, huge black wings erupted from his back and dwarfed the two of them in the room.

Black feathers wafted steadily to the floor, as Castiel came to himself again.

"Cas," murmured Dean, in awe and reverence. "Your wings. He gave you back your wings."

Blood dripped from the black, shining feathers onto the floor.

Castiel looked up at them in astonishment.

They were real. They were there.

It hadn't been a dream. None of it.

"You know," said Dean, leaning in and speaking in a low growl. "I'm a quick study. And payback's a bitch. Isn't it. _Castiel._ "

Dean gave the wings a meaningful look.

His smile turned sharp.

Castiel swallowed.

"You have the same look on your face as you did when I took you to that brothel," said Dean. "What's the matter, Cas? Cat got your tongue?"


	11. Revenge

"Dean, we have work to do -"

"Stop stealin' my lines," Dean replied, and reached up a hand to caress Castiel's left wing.

The angel shivered.

"And I think it can wait a little while longer," murmured Dean. "Tell me, Cas, have you ever heard of shibari?"

***

"Now, I wasn't gonna tie up your wings," said Dean, walking around Castiel.

The ropes felt strange but secure, holding Castiel aloft. Floating, and it felt like flying. 

"Because I know you just got 'em back, an' I wanted to see you flex 'em a little," said Dean. "Since that's what I'm gonna be focusing on."

Castiel could feel the oil dripping down his back. Anticipation heightened his senses. 

"What d'ya think, Cas, huh?" said Dean, voice gone dangerously soft. "You think maybe, since you got your wings back, you're _virginal_ too?"

He pet down one of the wings, and Castiel breathed out, steady.

His eyes pinned Dean, whose green eyes fluttered downward and his wings did the same in response.

"No, maybe not," said Dean, rebounding from the momentary display of Castiel's utter dominance over him, making sure Dean understood that he was being permitted this indiscretion only for the moment. "But I learn quick, an' maybe there's somethin' I can do to please you."

Castiel's wings snapped out wide. Dean shrank in front of him.

Even tied up, Castiel radiated power.

"Get on your knees and suck my cock," commanded Castiel.

"Fuck," muttered Dean, and did as he was told.

Castiel threw his head back on a moan, unable to move otherwise, as Dean's hot mouth closed over his cock. He thrashed a little against the ropes, wanting to fuck into that heat, but unable to do so because of the restriction.

Then Dean pulled off, and slowly stood, holding Castiel's gaze.

"That one, you get for free," said Dean. "But you're not in control this time, Castiel. I am."

Castiel growled a warning, but Dean ignored him. Then Dean circled around him, amid Castiel's muttered protests.

"I wonder," said Dean to himself, and then thrust his fingertips into the wings against the grain of the feathers.

Castiel shouted, and Dean kept pushing, rhythmically with one hand, up and under the feathers as he stroked Castiel's back with the other. His hand was covered in Castiel's wing oil and he sniffed at it.

"This stuff is awesome, Cas," said Dean, letting go of the wing as Castiel whined at the loss, circling around in front of him again.

Castiel's eyes widened as he watched Dean's tongue delicately slip out of his mouth to taste the wing oil on his hand. Dean's green eyes met his as he licked a stripe up his fingertips and then sucked on them.

"You taste _good,_ " Dean breathed.

Castiel's breath was coming in strange, harsh pants as his cock gave a sympathetic jerk.

"You don't know what you're doing," he whispered. "Dean - oh, _Dean -_ "

Dean smiled. Castiel could see how hard he was, how much Dean was enjoying this, and behind those mischevious green eyes, how badly he wanted Castiel.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Keep sayin' my name like that, I like it."

Then he paused.

"That gives me an idea."

Dean disappeared behind Castiel's back again.

Suddenly, Castiel could _feel Dean's tongue in the oil-gland_ , licking at it. 

Castiel shouted, and screamed, and strained against the bonds that kept him still as Dean shoved a hand into his wing, slid his cock deep inside Castiel without warning, then fastened his soft lips and his hot mouth around the right oil gland and _sucked._

The angel tensed, and felt the oncoming explosion approach as Dean fucked into him furiously and stuttered, guttural moaning around the oil gland as he came inside of Castiel -

and all Castiel could do was shout, " _Dean -_ "

just as he was hit with an intense wave of pleasure, and his cock pulsed with orgasm, he could hear the come hitting the wooden floor in spurts -

and then the world was filled with a bright, blue light.

***

Some time later - Castiel wasn't certain how long - the angel opened his eyes.

Terrified, he realized what had happened.

"Dean!" he shouted. "Dean, are you all right?"

A weak cough and a laugh from behind him.

"Buddy, warn a guy that an ancient angel shares his orgasm with the whole fuckin' world," said Dean, groaning. 

"My apologies," said Castiel, from where he was still suspended midair.

"Hell, it feels like you almost killed me," said Dean, standing up and walking over to him on shaky legs. "I'm gonna be bruised for a week."

Dean unwrapped the ropes and then gave Castiel a look as he was lowered to the ground.

Castiel averted his eyes.

"Wait," said Dean. "If we did that when you were full angel - "

"And I wasn't able to control myself?" asked Castiel. "Yes, I would have killed you. You're only human, Dean, and I've wanted you for a very long time. Your current half-angelic nature saved you."

"Don't piss off the nerd angels," said Dean. "Apparently don't give them everything they've ever dreamed of, either."

"I'm sorry," said Castiel. "I haven't been at full power for a very long time. I should have been -"

"I dunno, man," said Dean, ever reckless. "Seems like a fantastic way to go. There's somethin' very hot about tyin' up your own personal angel an' then nearly dyin' from his orgasm because he wanted you so bad."

"Still," said Castiel. "Perhaps we should be more cautious in future."

"What for?" asked Dean, grinning. 

Castiel rubbed the places where the ropes had cut into his skin.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

"Are you sure you're not an incubus?" he ground out.

Dean gave him a puzzled look, then threw back his head and laughed.

"C'mon, old man," he said, holding out a hand. "Let's take a nap together before we get back to work."

"Dean - "

"Cas," he interrupted, giving the angel a serious look. "Castiel. Let me take care of you."

Castiel melted.

And just as he would follow Dean anywhere -

he followed Dean to bed.


	12. Voices

Castiel woke up alone.

Again.

_No. No. No._

_Please, Father._

Castiel pressed his fists into his eyes and choked back something like a scream or sob.

His wings were still missing. Dean wasn't there. Death wasn't his father, he was calling out to an absent, abusive, insane creature that they had destroyed - and the Earth hadn't vanished along with him, so they assumed either he wasn't really God or that his existence was not necessary for the world he built -

Castiel lowered his fists from his eyes. The tears fell freely.

But he got up, because he had to, and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

He had ignored his job long enough. 

As he had said, he had work to do.

***

Castiel sorted through the information online, and then sat back, rubbing his face.

There was absolutely nothing that sounded right. Certain things were close, but nothing jumped out at him.

"I wish you were here," said Castiel sadly. "Really here, Dean -"

" - _iel!!_ " 

Castiel jumped and looked around himself wildly. 

The shout echoed through the house.

_Dean's voice._

What the hell was wrong with him? Was Dean really there or not?

_I think this must be how it feels to go insane._

"Dean?" asked Castiel doubtfully.

" - _mmit Cas, c'mon, try harder!_ "

The voice seemed to go in and out like waves.

Castiel didn't know if he could trust it.

But as the shadows grew, he reached out and focused -

only for the world to go rushing out like water pouring out of a cup, and find Dean standing in front of him, cupping his face as he lay prone on the floor.

Dean had wings.

Castiel also had wings.

"There you are," sighed Dean in relief, and kissed him on the mouth.

***

"Okay," said Dean, pacing, his wings flexing behind him a bit as he talked. "Okay. So whatever this is, it's got its claws in you, Cas."

Castiel just stared at him, wide-eyed.

"How do I know this is real?" he said. "How do I know, Dean? I can't know that."

"I once asked you the same thing," said Dean. "So I'm gonna tell you the same thing. We are, Cas. We're real."

Castiel just gave him a doubtful look.

"Let's say I'm not real," said Dean. "Either way, I'm here to help. Okay? We gotta figure this out because it's eating you alive."

He stopped.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Wait. There's something - Sam told me about it once, it's not very well known, but -"

Dean hovered over the computer, and then threw Castiel a pleading look.

"Can you help me out here?"

_you know he isn't real, Castiel_

_Dean doesn't have wings_

_your brother is dead_

_god is dead_

_Dean is **dead**_

_see how he can't even do a cursory Internet search?_

_this is the lie, Castiel_

_the reality is there_

_with me_

_I tell you the truth, Castiel angel-of-the-Lord_

_heavenly warrior_

_isn't truth more beautiful than beautiful lies?_

"Who are you?" Castiel demanded.

Dean turned.

"What?"

_I love you, Castiel. **Real** love. I'm in love with you, Castiel. **Cas.**_

_And it didn't take me a century to tell you so._

_Come back to me, Cas. Come back and leave this monster of a man behind you._

_**Cas. Cas. Cas.** _

"Cas?" Dean was waving a hand in front of his face. "Cas? You in there?"

"Yes," Castiel replied. 

Dean sighed.

"Good," he said. "I thought I lost you. Who were you talking to?"

"There's a voice in my head," said Castiel.

"Like, kill everyone voices or put strawberry jam on your head voices?" asked Dean.

"I think it's the voice of the thing we're hunting."

"And it's inside your head? That's not good, Cas."

Castiel nodded.

"And what is it saying?"

Castiel looked Dean full in the face.

"It says it loves me," he said. "And that I should leave you. That you're not real."

***

Castiel had seen that expression of a gathering storm in Dean's face before.

But only for Sam.

His voice went dead and quiet.

"Is that so," said Dean, his jaw tightening and lips in a firm line.

"It said, at least it didn't wait for over a century to tell me its feelings," said Castiel.

Dean stared at the floor.

"Yeah, well," he said. "I'm an idiot, what can I say? But it's always been you, Cas. You gotta know that."

"I don't know what to believe."

"Believe me!" Dean said. "Your best friend, your - your - !"

_Liar._

_He's a **liar.**_

_A born liar. They just don't know any better, do they, Castiel?_

_But you and I, we are born of the stars and the spheres._

_You and I, Castiel._

_You and I._

Castiel gripped his hair in his hands and felt tears sting his eyes.

"I don't understand what's happening to me," he said in anguish. "Sometimes you're here. Sometimes you're not. It's real or it isn't. I can't tell the difference anymore, Dean, and I've just _wanted_ so badly - for so long, and -"

There was a knock on the door.

"What now?" Dean said, irritable, and yanked the door open.

Three angels stood on the stoop.

"It's the cavalry," said one of the angels.

She smiled.

***

"Please, leave us be, Turiel," said Castiel.

"I see your wings were returned," she said. "I didn't think a miserable excuse for an angel would -"

She choked on her words. Then she started coughing, as did the other angels.

"Turiel?!" cried Castiel in alarm, going to her -

but in a blaze of light and smoke, she and the other two angels perished on the ground.

As he and Dean stood and watched, the angels' bodies turned to ash and blew away in the wind, leaving only the imprint of wings behind.

_You see, Castiel? I'll always protect you._

_What can this measly human do for you? Nothing._

Castiel glanced at Dean, whose terror was evident in his face.

"And why are you letting Dean live?"

_For now._

_Because he loves you._

_And I understand._

_But the moment he so much as raises his voice, my dear, sweet love -_

Castiel did not need to hear the end of it.

"Cas?" Dean whispered. "What the hell?"

_Don't even think of going elsewhere, my love. I'm inside you now._

"Don't call me that," said Castiel, furious that it was using his private pet name for Dean against him.

"Cas, you gotta tell me what's going on," Dean insisted. "It's the only way we're gonna get through this."

_Go ahead. I'm always listening._

_I always come when you call._


	13. Sympathy

" _Who are you?_ " Castiel roared.

Dean backed away from him.

"Whoa, Cas, you're scaring me, man," he said. "What's goin' on?"

_**Who** I am doesn't really matter, Castiel._

_**What** I am, now that's what matters._

_And what I am -_

_is **jealous.**_

"Cas, buddy, talk to me," Dean begged. "I'm losin' you here."

_Listen to that. **Buddy.** That's what you call your one true love?_

"He doesn't mean it -" Castiel argued.

_Oh, is that so?_

_you're such a friggin' child, Cas_

_without your power, you're a baby in a trenchcoat_

_you can't stay_

_you're dead to me_

Every barb hit home.

"Please," said Dean's voice, soft and sure, cutting through the noise.

Castiel looked up at that beloved face and opened his mouth to speak.

_You sure you want to do that, Castiel?_

Dean suddenly fritzed, and flickered out like a ghost.

"No!" Castiel shouted. Dean returned, solid and sure.

_Because here's the thing, Castiel._

_I want you to come to me of your own free will._

_Isn't that what you're all about?_

_Team Free Will, isn't that right?_

Castiel panicked. How could he fight something that was apparently lodged in his own mind?

"Cas, are you possessed or something?" asked Dean. "What is it?"

_He certainly seems concerned, doesn't he?_

_**Now.** When there's a monster to fight. _

_But he's never the monster, is he?_

_The self-righteous man._

"Shut up!" cried Castiel, and he was in Dean's arms, and Dean's head was buried in his shoulder, and the shadows faded from the room as it was filled with golden light.

A light that was emanating from within Dean himself.

Blessed silence fell.

"Dean," said Castiel in relief, and hugged him back.

***

"We don't have a lot of time," said Dean. "I don't know how long that's going to hold it off."

"What did you do?" asked Castiel. Dean blushed.

"I, uh," he said. "It's my soul, I guess? I thought about - um."

He looked uncomfortable.

" - _howmuchIlovedyou -_ " he muttered on a soft breath.

Castiel beamed like the sun.

"Anyway, spell time," said Dean in a rush. "I got a hunch and if this is what I think it is, we gotta get it off you."

"Off me?" asked Castiel.

"Yeah, it's uh, kind of like a leech," said Dean. "Probably picked it up on the road."

"It was using the worst parts of our friendship against you," said Castiel. "It said it was jealous, and that you don't really love me, and that I will have to choose."

Dean glanced up from where he was putting the ingredients for the spell into the bowl.

"Cas," he said. "If I didn't - if - do you think I would have been able to make my soul bright enough to get rid of it for a while?"

Castiel had no answer to that.

"It says you aren't real."

"Yeah, well, I am," said Dean. "And I already went through this with Sam, so."

"But getting everything I ever wanted, all at once?" ventured Castiel. "You're back, you're an angel, Death is my Father, Gabriel's alive -"

"Cas," said Dean. "Don't poke the bear, okay?"

He lit a match and threw it into the bowl.

An explosion went off, and wafted up to the rafters, filling the room with sweet-smelling smoke.

Dean opened an eye, then the other.

"Anything?"

"Maybe the spell didn't work."

"The spell worked."

Suddenly, there was music. 

Dean looked around himself.

"Where's that coming from?" he asked. "Is that the Stones?"

_Please allow me to introduce myself_

_I'm a man of wealth and taste._

_I've been around a long, long year_

_Stole many a man's soul to waste._

"Sympathy for -" Dean groaned. "Ah, hell no - "

just as Castiel said,

"Oh, fuck."

"The Devil," Lucifer finished on a smile, appearing suddenly, seated on a chair.

_Pleased to meet you,_

_hope you guessed my name!_


	14. Discussion

"Is it you?!" shouted Castiel, rushing at Lucifer and placing his angel blade against his neck.

"What, no hug?" asked Lucifer, pouting. "I've always admired your attitude, little brother. Going up against _me._ It's kind of cute. You're like Scrappy Doo."

"What?" demanded Castiel, confused.

Lucifer sighed. He glanced at Dean.

"Really," he said. "All the angels in Heaven, and you wanted _this_ one. Then again, you're a little bit like Scrappy Doo yourself, Dean."

"This place is like Grand Central station," growled Dean. "Answer the question, douchebag."

Lucifer pointed at him. 

"There's the little engine that could!" he crowed. 

He gently moved the point of Castiel's angel blade away from his throat.

"Answer the question!" Castiel said.

Lucifer sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Is it me," he repeated. "Ew. Gross. No. I don't know what you've got going on down here with the Winchesters, but I'm strictly against incest, Castiel."

Dean glared at him.

"You tortured Sammy," he said.

"In the cage? Sure," said Lucifer, shrugging. "But if you mean after Castiel here crumbled his wall, that was all Sam's coconut, my friend."

"Then what are you doing here?" asked Castiel. "Talk."

"Not even a cup of coffee?" asked Lucifer. "No? Typical. What should I expect when it comes to my family. I'm here for two reasons. One, Dad told me that we've got a plus-one at Thanksgiving. Two, whatever you're tangling with here, Castiel - it's got nothing to do with me."

"And that warranted a visit?"

"Like I said, I wanted to drop in on the new in-law," said Lucifer. He shifted his gaze to Dean. "You do know that mating with an angel is the equivalent of our marriage ceremony, right? Castiel did tell you? I know he's keen on that whole _consent_ thing."

Dean looked at Castiel. Castiel looked at the floor.

"That true, Cas?" he asked.

"In some old-fashioned circles, yes," said Castiel. "But I wasn't going to offer you a permanent bond until -"

Lucifer clapped his hands.

"How modern," he said.

"Did you know Death was our Father?" Castiel asked. Lucifer shook his head.

"No, he just turned up and laid it on me," said Lucifer. "Hell, it's been so long since I've seen the guy, I wouldn't have recognized him either way."

"There's been a lot of drive-by visits to this cabin lately," seethed Dean, "and not a one can help us figure out what's haunting Cas, or this cabin, and to help fix it!"

Lucifer's hand fluttered to his chest.

"Are - are you asking _me_ to _help you?_ " he gasped. "Stop. I'm blushing."

"You're always on this song and dance about how you're this misunderstood rebel angel," growled Dean. "So how about you do a fellow rebel angel a solid and help Castiel?"

"Castiel and I _are not the same!_ " snarled Lucifer. Dean recoiled. 

Then, Lucifer settled back in the armchair.

"Manifestations," he said, and winked. "Good luck."

Then he vanished.

"Son of _a bitch!_ " Dean shouted.

"Wait," said Castiel. "Each of the people who have come through here have given us clues."

"What do you mean?"

"Gabriel said _there's something in the water,_ " said Castiel. "Lucifer said _manifestations._ "

"Yeah," said Dean, warming to the idea. "That's gotta mean something, right?"

"But why would your spell manifest Lucifer?"

"Got me."

"What does the spell do exactly?"

"It reveals the hidden."

"By the letter of the law, that might mean _information_ ," said Castiel.

Dean made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

"Stupid magic," he said. "The rules are stupid."

"Let's start with your suspicions," said Castiel. "What did you think it might be?"

"You know how a lot of monsters are here because the immigrants brought them?" asked Dean. 

Castiel nodded.

"Well, there are a few that are uniquely American," Dean told him. "All that heartsickness, missing their home countries and families and friends, sometimes lovers, husbands, wives, whatever. They brought it here, and made it manifest. These creatures lived in the woods and hang from tree branches, white leeches that wait for unsuspecting travelers to pass beneath them and then fall onto them."

Castiel felt his skin crawl.

"So it's nothing to do with the cabin or the lake?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so," said Dean. "If it's these creatures, then you probably picked it up on the road somewhere. It's kind of like the road-life equivalent of a woodtick. They evolved, and don't just live in trees anymore. They're everywhere, in cities, lonely roadsides, anywhere they might find themselves in the vicinity of people. They're only capable of influencing people when in shadow, which they once had to wait for, but now can create. And they feed on loneliness, heartsickness, homesickness, longing - "

Dean knelt in front of him, and took his face in his hands.

"And to one of those things, something like you -"

"Would have seemed like a feast," Castiel admitted, and Dean kissed him.

The room filled with light. The shadows crept back.

"And the only thing that works against them is requited love, is returning home, is losing their food source," said Dean. 

"So that's why it wants me to return to the world where you don't exist," said Castiel. 

"If I'm right," said Dean.

"Then how do we kill it?" asked Castiel.

"First, you have to believe me," said Dean. "Believe I'm real. And then -"

He coughed.

"Complete our bond."

Castiel stared.

"You'd do that?"

"Hell yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

"But you're - "

"Look, Cas. I've had time to think about it. More time than most people get. And yeah, it's a weird way to go about it, but if you're ready, then so am I -"

Dean suddenly fritzed and blinked out of existence.

"Dean! No!" Castiel shouted.

_I'm sorry for the rude interruption, my love._

_Now where were we?_

_Ah, yes._

And it poured a litany of Dean's transgressions into Castiel's mind on a loop, and the darker the cabin became, the brighter and more real the memories were, as Castiel tried at first to hang on to some semblance of what Dean had said but it was drowning in everything else -

_nobody cares that you're broken, Cas! fix your mess_

_why does that thing always seem to be you?_

and as the shadows gathered over Castiel, lying on the floor of the cabin, he saw the great, whitish-grey, sluglike creature attached to his chest, undulating in a sickly-slow wave as it fed, its teeth latched into his skin where it bruised purple-white in the blood and foam that dripped from its mouth -

and the thoughts thrummed through his mind, exactly in time with the thing's undulations -

_but **I** love you _

_Castiel_

_I love you_

_and I'm jealous_

_jealous_

_jealous_


	15. Nest

In the darkness, Castiel came to.

Woozy, groggy, unable to move, he noticed with horror the creature attached to his chest.

But he was so weak he could not lift his arms to push it off.

He held his breath, and then made sure to breathe evenly.

He couldn't let the thing know he was awake.

Cautious, his eyes slid below his lashes and he could not help the sudden shudder of horror as he saw the things hanging from the ceiling by the hundreds, fat and bloated as they breathed in and out, hung close together like bats.

He managed to keep the scream that wanted to leave his throat right behind his teeth.

He shifted slightly.

The thing on him suddenly pushed out long, spindly legs spiked with hairs, like a cockroach, that tightened to hold him in place.

He studiously tried _not_ to think of the shibari session with Dean.

Revulsion worked its way through him and he took a moment to calm himself.

He made sure his mind was as clear as he could make it, taking in his surroundings.

The cabin was old and dilapidated. No one had lived there in years. The place was filthy and dark, the floor littered with old newspapers and cobwebs. 

The creatures must have compelled him here, created some kind of illusion for him.

He wondered how long he had been gone, and if anyone had missed him.

***

_We are._

_We have been, for a long time._

_And we are **hungry.**_

_Then -  
_

_then there was **you,** sweet Castiel._

_Tortured, immortal half-angel, with the gift that keeps on giving_

_the homesick lovesick nostalgic longing of a creature neither here nor there -  
_

_Delicious._

_And what a feast, for me and my family._

_Because that's what matters to you, isn't it, Castiel?_

_**Belonging. Family.** _

_Now you belong to our family, Castiel._

_We will never leave you, Castiel._

_We will always love you, Castiel._

_We will never kick you out of our home, Castiel._

_Castiel._

_Castiel._

"Castiel!" 

Castiel opened his eyes, abrupt in the bright sunlight.

"Dean?"

"Oh, thank fuck," muttered Dean, and he hugged Castiel tight.

Castiel scrambled away from him.

"What's wrong?" Dean said, looking hurt.

"I think I know," said Castiel.

"But you still can't tell me," said Dean. "Cas, this is important! You were out for like, half a day!"

Castiel had to think fast, because he had now figured something out and needed to communicate to Dean without the creatures discovering that he knew what was really happening.

But they could see inside his head. As Castiel had once told Dean, there were places more private than that. 

_There's something in the water._

Castiel remembered Gabriel's cryptic advice.

Maybe that something wasn't the monster, but some way to defeat it?

"Let's go for a swim."

"A swim?" asked Dean. "Now?"

Castiel winked at him.

Dean grinned.

"I'm up for anything," he said. 

Castiel was about to explain that the wink had not been a flirtation, but he figured anything that got Dean out of the cabin and into the lake was a good thing.

***

"Look out!"

Dean ran to the end of the dock and wrapped his wings around himself as he cannonballed into the lake, absolutely drenching Cas, who had been treading water.

"Whoo!" shouted Dean, as his head broke the surface. "Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

He caught a glimpse of Castiel's expression and laughed.

"Aw, c'mon," he cajoled. "Why don't you ever want to have fun?"

"Because I'm civilized," said Castiel. "Besides, this is fun."

"Bet I know something that's more fun," said Dean, and he approached Castiel.

It was distracting, having Dean so close, especially with those gorgeous golden wings, but Castiel held up his hand.

"What?" asked Dean, looking disappointed. "What is it?"

"We don't have much time," said Castiel. "Do you remember what Gabriel said about _there's something in the water?_ "

"Yeah," said Dean. "Cryptic bastard. What about it?"

"I think they can't hear us," said Castiel. "Out here."

"They? They who?"

Castiel outlined the situation. Dean looked appropriately disgusted.

"So you're saying," he said slowly, "you got three choices. This world with me, that world with them -"

"Or the third world," said Castiel. "Reality."

Dean treaded water for a while.

"So I'm not real."

"I'm afraid not."

Dean looked down into the water.

"I feel real."

"I think you are, as Lucifer so succinctly put it, a _manifestation,_ " said Castiel. "Of my psyche. My ability to fight. As are the rest of you. My brothers...Death, which I assume is my wish for my father to be something of a responsible adult deserving of my respect."

Dean looked over his shoulder at the cabin.

"Bastards," he said, with feeling. "Well, Cas. What do you want to do? I'll help you out. Even though I'm not real."

Castiel smiled.

"I'd rather have you," he said. "Real or not."


	16. Angels

Castiel closed his eyes.

When he opened them, there was Sam, standing on the dock.

"Sam," Castiel greeted him warmly, and wrapped him in a hug.

"Hi, Castiel," said Sam, and none of that boyish admiration that Sam had when he'd first met Cas had faded yet.

"Hey, Sam, what are you doing here?" asked Dean.

"I asked him to come."

Dean gave Castiel a puzzled look.

"What for?"

"Research," said Sam. "Intelligence."

Dean pouted.

"You sayin' I ain't smart, Cas?"

Castiel turned to Dean.

"Of course not, beloved," he said. "In your own way, you're a genius. But - "

"Manifestations," muttered Dean. "Right."

"Don't be jealous," grinned Sam, clapping him on the back. "Okay. Let's get to work."

***

They sat on the dock in the sun, because Castiel wasn't interested in returning to the cabin and he thought staying closer to the water was better. He didn't know how much time they had, but wanted to use it wisely.

Still, there was something so soft and wonderful about sitting here on the dock with these two men who had become his family. Castiel had never really been accepted by his own family, and because he wouldn't fall in line, continued to rebel, now in the name of humanity, they thought he was a poor kind of angel.

Sunning his wings on the dock while he watched the brothers bicker and Dean's achingly gorgeous golden wings shining in the late afternoon light -

he could be happy here.

They all could have been, once upon a time.

But there was always someone else who needed saving.

Castiel ruminated on the thought that the Winchesters were angels in their own right, because the job of a guardian was never done -

and no one knew that like Castiel.

"You - you're a - your face," said Dean. "I will push you in the water. Don't think I won't."

"Dean, no," Sam laughed. "I mean these creatures are hard to kill. You can't kill them. It's not a judgement of your hunting ability."

"Then what?" asked Dean. "We gotta help Cas, Sam."

"We _are_ helping Cas," said Sam. He looked over at Castiel. "As much as we can."

"I ain't losin' him again," said Dean.

"You are both figments of my imagination," growled Castiel. "And there's something you're not letting me know. Sam. Please."

Sam gave him an uncertain look.

"I think what Gabriel meant," he said in measured tones, "about the water, was that they - uh. They can't survive underneath it."

Castiel considered this information.

"So I somehow need to wake up, and then get out of the cabin -"

"- and down to the dock, into the water, without waking any of them up," said Sam, "because they move lightning-fast and they will come for their meal ticket if they think they're losing it."

"Okay," said Castiel. "I'm sensing that there's still a catch."

"One," said Sam. "You're weak. Close to dying, if you were mortal. And that's the thing - it might not let you go. Not even in water."

"What are you not telling me?"

Sam swallowed visibly.

"That you may need to become mortal," he said, "and cut off their food supply."

"By which you mean - "

"Dying. Like a human would. Yeah."

"Sam, out there in the real world I am barely an angel," said Castiel. "And I know even less about how to become fully human, especially in these circumstances, than I do about how to become fully an angel again."

Sam shrugged.

"That's all I got."

"Or you could stay here," said Dean, lacing his fingers together. "With me."

Castiel looked down at their hands intertwined.

"Tempting as that is, Sam's right," said Castiel. "You're not real, none of this is real, and if I don't get moving, I'll be stuck in this loop forever. I - "

Castiel noticed the lengthening shadows.

He suddenly knew what to do.

"I think we need to go back inside the cabin," he said. "These creatures are getting suspicious."

"Hitchhikers," said Sam.

"What?"

"That's what they're called," said Sam, with a nervous little huff of a laugh. "Hitchhikers."

"Well," said Castiel. "Let's not give them a reason for concern just yet."

The three of them walked up to the cabin together, laughing and talking, and this time, when Castiel entered the long shadow thrown by the cabin, he knew what was coming next.

***

_Castiel._

_My love._

_You've returned._

The cabin was empty and silent. The summer wind was light and delicate, with the scent of fall on the air. 

Some of the leaves were beginning to turn.

Castiel loved the changing seasons. He was an angel. That was part of their programming, so to speak. 

But it was autumn he loved the most.

Something about being on the very edge of such a change invigorated him.

_You're beautiful, Castiel. Did you know that? Beautiful. He never called you that, did he? Beautiful_

_- **and delicious -**_

Castiel started. But he went about his business, making coffee, putting things away.

_He'll never love you like **we** love you, Castiel, angel, hero, warrior._

_He never appreciated you_

Castiel waited for the show to begin, the greatest hits of their betrayals, when a thought struck him -

_I'm not leaving here without you._

_I need you._

_I'd have died for you._

Throwing back the things he remembered Dean saying, those precious words he kept hidden behind the lining of his trenchcoat, in the lining of his heart -

_I prayed to you every night_

thought Castiel toward them, viciously, and they shrank back, away from the onslaught of images, voices, quick pats on the back that lingered and were more loving than Dean showed on the outside, but Castiel was an angel and he could feel the longing laced within every electric touch between them -

_I watched you rake leaves, Dean_

_I'll watch over you_

_I love you, Dean Winchester._

***

And he was awake, and his eyes fluttered open to see the dilapidated cabin around him.

Slow and sure, he began to move, sliding inch by inch toward the door.


	17. The Dock

Castiel kept his eyes on the creatures above him. A few of them moved, minutely, adjusting in their sleep.

He wondered if they would have been disturbed more easily had they not fed on him so extravagantly. As it was, they shifted as he slid, then stayed still on the ground for another five, ten, fifteen minutes before he pushed himself weakly along again.

The creature currently feeding from him had gluttonously expanded and seemed to be in some kind of food coma. It was currently the least of his concerns, but he did not want to inadvertently jostle it as he moved.

Hours had passed. It was fully dark when he made it to the screen door, which fortunately opened outward. He pushed himself outside, keeping his foot in the door, and letting it close slowly.

He froze when the soft little _bang_ of the door echoed through the wilderness - or at least, that was how he heard it, loud as a gunshot.

But whether the Hitchhikers had poor hearing or were just stunned by their recent feed, he did not know. Their laziness worried him, and he wondered if he had been absolutely covered in these things feeding on him until this last one was left. It was slightly smaller than the others, so he wondered if it was younger. But he could not even look down his body to check. This was taking all the strength he had left.

He edged down the rotting stairs until he was lying in the grass. He let out a breath of relief. 

Halfway, and the things dozed on.

He rested for a while, wondering if or when they would realize their feast was escaping and what they might do once they did. He wondered what they normally fed on. Kids who were just moving out for the first time? Lonely travelers along empty highways like some of the empty people he had seen in Vegas, in Los Angeles, in New York City? He supposed there was plenty of loneliness to go around, and nostalgia for better days.

But there was nothing like an angel for feeding on, and while normally a creature like him would not be readily available for these kinds of creatures, Castiel's unique situation had also made him uniquely suitable for the monsters to feed. He wondered if they thought they had found paradise, their own land of plenty. 

He didn't really have to think about what they thought, because they put their thoughts directly into his head. 

And, from a certain point of view, perhaps they _did_ love him.

Vampires often fell in love with their victims, after all.

Castiel did not have a lot of time for this type of reflection and consideration, so he began the slow, painful progress of moving forward. He wished he had the strength to get to his feet, to run and leap off the dock as he did in his dreams. But reality being what it was, finding his way to the dock took most of the rest of the night.

When his back finally hit wood, he closed his eyes and sent a prayer out to anyone who might still be listening. He wondered how long he'd been out, how long he'd been gone. Another century may have passed. He wouldn't have known it. Angels mark time differently, and that remained true for Castiel, even in his current state of being.

His eyes had never left the cabin in the darkness.

Now, early dawn lit up the world in its light gray-purple. Mist was rising from the lake as the early-morning frogs and loons started up the particular dawn chorus of this lake. 

And that was when it happened.

The dock, rotted much like the stairs had been, had seen better days. Under the solid weight of Castiel, perhaps the first weight it had to support in years, a chunk of wood fell into the water with a loud _plop._

Castiel held his breath, alarmed -

and that was when the creatures suddenly _poured_ out of the house, swarming like a mess of cockroaches toward him, filling up the lawn and yelling inside his head a cacaphony of fury and love he barely understood, and the creature on his chest bit down into him harder -

the horror, the revulsion, but mostly the pain, electrified him and he turned over, got to his feet, and in three bounding steps was sailing into the air as the creatures plunged into the water chasing after him -

and then he hit the water, was submerged, and he swam down as deep as he could go, finding an old fallen tree and trapping himself beneath it as the thing on his chest bit into him tighter and blood flowed into the green water as the water above him boiled with the things.

The last thing he heard, before he blacked out, was:

_don't leave us, please Castiel, we love you so much_

_you're breaking our hearts_

_it's him, isn't it_

_it's always been him_

_that bastard never appreciated what he had_

_come back to us, Castiel-the-angel_

_we love you_

_we love you_

_we love you_

***

The air was fresh and scented with flowers.

Castiel stood in a garden, deep green and heavy with blooms.

He blinked at his surroundings.

"Now, then, my son," said a voice, and Castiel turned to see Death. "It is good to see you again."

"Where am I?" asked Castiel.

Death leaned on his walking stick and looked around with a slightly surprised air, as if he wasn't quite sure himself.

"In the place between life and death," said Death. "Today, it appears to be a tropical garden from a small island. Walk with me?"

Castiel figured he didn't have much of a choice, so he did as requested.

Death walked by his side for a while without speaking.

"You are a rare angel, Castiel," said Death. "The only one who has ever come here."

"This is the bridge between the human life and afterlife," said Castiel.

"Yes," said Death, and he paused in the path. Castiel also politely stopped and let him continue.

"I'm here to give you a choice," he said. 

"What choice?" asked Castiel.

But Death only smiled.


	18. Garden

"You called me your son."

"I did."

"I thought -"

"That everything you saw was false?" said Death gently. "No. Not everything."

"I don't believe you."

The light that radiated through the garden would have blinded him as Castiel could blind a human, but he just smiled into it.

" _Father._ "

***

"What choice are you offering?" asked Castiel, as the continued their walk to the fountain at the center. A large tree stood over it, hung with delicious-looking fruit.

"I understand Eve's choice now," said Castiel gravely. Death nodded his head.

"Safety, or adventure," he said. "Conformity, or rebellion. I've found, in my time, that most creatures enjoy the option of the choice."

"You locked Lucifer away."

"Lucifer was arrogant," said Death. "You, Castiel, broke the letter of the law to follow its heart. And in doing so, followed your own. Are you familiar with the book of Job?"

"Of course. All angels are. You know that, Father."

"Just making conversation," said Death. "And so it is for you, Castiel. You loved humanity as I asked - even one small part of it, during one small time, in the grand turning of the earth. You, Castiel, great and mighty, humbled yourself in your choices - lover, loved, and family."

"I tried to become you."

"You tried to fix things," said Death. "And in this case, just as in Job's - I must admit, Castiel, I was wrong. You have shown me the error of my ways."

"Job was rewarded. Even though he argued with God."

"Indeed," said Death, and extended his hand toward a large house which had not been there in the past.

There was a party going on inside. It was loud and jubilant.

"Take a look," invited Death.

Castiel approached, and looked in the window. He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, as Death nodded encouragement.

His heart leapt to see Dean, laughing with food in his mouth. Sam smirking behind a bottle of beer. John and Mary Winchester seated with their sons at a long table that also held Charlie, Kevin, Ash, Ellen, Jo, and countless other hunters and people Castiel had never known. Rock music blared from the room and the table was groaning with food.

Castiel smiled, his heart full. He turned to go.

"Cas?"

The angel turned around to see Dean.

"Hello, Dean," he said, with all the love he could put into his voice.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I didn't want to spoil the party."

Dean gave him a strange look.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Cas, this party is for you."

Castiel stared at him. He glanced up and saw Sam and Jo waving at him from the window. They looked happy to see him.

He turned back to Death, who nodded and smiled.

"We'll continue this conversation later," said Death, and he vanished.

***

Inside, the party was raucous and loud. Pamela was talking with Ellen and Sam had gone to speak to a blond woman standing next to Ash.

"That's Jess," Dean informed him.

"Oh," said Castiel. "She's beautiful."

"Yeah," said Dean.

"Can we go somewhere else?" asked Castiel. "I'd like to speak with you alone."

Dean looked troubled.

"Sure, Cas," said Dean. "Whatever you want. But we better sneak away from the party, or Ellen'll box your ears."

"Why would - "

"Just trust me. C'mon."

***

They found themselves in a quiet room, darkened a little by the late afternoon light, although where they were and how the weather worked was a mystery to Castiel.

In the relative darkness, Dean turned to him.

"So? You got me here. What's up?"

"I don't think I have much time," he said. "But - are you Dean? The real Dean?"

Dean smiled a little.

"I don't think this is the kind of place you can do the holy-water-and-a-silver-knife test," said Dean. "But yeah, Cas. Been waitin' for you."

"Why? I'm an angel. You know I can't come here. Only the Empty."

Dean shrugged.

"I figured you'd find a way," he said. "Hell, if you took much longer, I was gonna grab me a pair of wings and bust out of the joint, find you myself."

Castiel remembered what Death said.

_Some things you saw were real._

"Dean," said Castiel, and now here at the precipice -

although it seemed that he had already gone through all this before -

he was suddenly, acutely aware it had all been a dress rehearsal.

But he wasn't certain how long he would have, so just like he had in his mind, at the cabin on the lake, run down the dock and dove, trusting that the water would be there to catch him -

Castiel jumped.

"Dean, I'm in love with you."

There.

That was all he had to say. No use embellishing.

Dean just stood there. His expression did not change.

Castiel stood there likewise, and despite the panic beginning to rise in him, he waited.

Then -

Dean was walking slowly forward.

Dean, hesitant, shy, as he must have been as a small boy, before his world had crashed in -

Dean, that warm and golden soul, made a soft, slow move as if to kiss him, just shy of Castiel's lips, but as if he couldn't quite gather the courage -

and still, Castiel waited. Patient. Eternal.

And Dean's lips met his, and Castiel kissed him in return, as Dean's arms wound around him and he made a little noise that sounded like relief and ecstasy and coming home all at once.

Then, he let go. He backed away, and he looked at Castiel, with such trust and love in those green eyes that Castiel would have traded any of those fantasies for this, just this, Dean Winchester looking at him with naked adoration and awe, and the shy, sweet kiss they had just shared between them.

"I, uh," said Dean. "Cas - "

"Choose," said a voice Castiel recognized as Death's, as the world blinked out of existence and he was struggling underwater, bubbles to the surface, and the thing was nearly eating a hole into his chest, its teeth against his ribcage like fingernails on a chalkboard echoing dully in the deep, and the world was green -

"An angel granted a human death. Or - "

"Or what?" asked Castiel, as the world snapped to again and Dean gave him a puzzled look.

"Or," said Death. "Dean and Sam return to Earth with you, hunting the rest of eternity. I hear you're already quite the folk story. What's one more American legend?"

"I can't make that choice," said Castiel.

"Free will," said Death. "Of course. Then, let's put the question to Sam and Dean."

The brothers now both stood before him.

"Choice. That's what your little team is all about, right? Well, Castiel here is currently in a predicament down on Earth. So I have given him a choice: eternity here in your heaven, or an even trade. You both go back to Earth with him. But this time you'll be immortal. You'll never age. And you will not be able to return."

"What's in it for us?" asked Sam. "Sorry, Cas. No offense."

"None taken."

The world blinked out again, and the creature on his chest was starting to flake away like cigarette ash in the water, but its teeth remained firmly lodged in him. All around him, drowned Hitchhikers were sinking deep into the lake, to become part of the leaf mulch and detritus of the bottom. Weakly, Castiel tried to get his hands around the creature to pull it off, but to no avail.

Suddenly, he was standing in front of the Winchesters again.

"No access to heaven also means no access to hell, purgatory, the Empty, or any of the multitude of other afterlives available," said Death. "You'll be invincible killing machines. If that's what you want."

"Why?" asked Dean.

"Because I wanted to reward Castiel for his service," said Death. "He's a good son."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

" _You're_ God?" he asked.

"Makes sense," said Sam. "He's the only thing you've ever been really scared of."

"Kind of like you'd be afraid of a father-in-law, isn't that right?" said Death, as if he had his own little private joke that nobody ever got. 

"I meant, why would you want _us_ back down _there_?"

"Because, Dean," said Death, "you are my warriors. Someone needs to be, what is it that you always say? _Saving people, hunting things._ "

"There are other hunters," said Dean.

"There are," said Death. "But there's only one Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Cas, stay here with us," said Dean.

"Is there a third option?" Castiel cut in. "Where I cease to exist?"

"No!" Dean shouted, but Castiel held up a hand.

"Indeed," nodded Death. "Should you want it."

Castiel looked at the brothers. He looked at Death.

The worlds kept blinking in and out of each other.

"You are on the threshhold," warned Death. "It's time to decide."

There were mere seconds remaining now.

And Castiel opened his mouth to speak.


	19. Who Wants to Live Forever

Before Castiel could say anything, Death nodded.

"Very well," said Death, and Dean, alarmed, looked between the two of them.

"Wait! No!"

Castiel smiled.

"Thank you for everything," he said, content.

Then, with a sad confidence:

"Goodbye, Dean."

***

_The water was heavy and dark._

_The fight was over._

_Castiel surrendered._

_Billions of years had marked the existence of the angel Castiel._

_He had seen cities rise and fall._

_He had sung countless things into being._

_And there, at the end of his long, long life,_

_had been one small, quiet spark,_

_unremarkable_

_remarkable_

_Dean Winchester._

_And as those many billions of years_

_of stars_

_of heaven and Earth_

_Purgatory and Hell_

_the last-ever thought of the angel Castiel was that single, all-important syllable._

**Dean.**


	20. The Opposite of Pleading the Fifth

_The lake was placid and silent, sparkling in the summer sunlight._

_Suddenly, a head breached the water, gasping loudly, breaking the peace as birds took flight._

_The man in the water made for the dock._


	21. With or Without You

Castiel saw sunlight. He vomited water, coughing and blinking, wondering what had gone wrong.

And there was Dean's face, beloved Dean, staring into his eyes angrily.

"Don't you dare," he said against clenched teeth. "Don't you _fucking_ dare, you stupid son of a bitch. Bastard."

And he hauled Castiel up and was kissing him,

"You stupid, _stupid_ son of a bitch - "

and Dean's hands were clutching his wet shirt,

"You fucking idiot - asshole - fucking - _ugh_ -"

as Dean ran through more and more creative insults all the while kissing Castiel deeply and angrily with a clash of teeth.

"We only just started, you motherfucker - "

and Dean was holding his cheeks, and smiling, and crying, kissing him again, and there were tears streaming down his face.

Castiel just welcomed the onslaught and blinked at him with wide eyes.

"What did I tell ya last time, huh?" said Dean, and he was openly weeping now, breath hitching on sobs as he couldn't seem to get quite close enough, unwilling to tear himself away from the kisses even to speak.

"To never do that again," Castiel ground out between kisses.

"Right. An' what did you say?"

"All right."

"That's right. You said _all right,_ " said Dean. "You _promised,_ Cas, an' we were gonna - we finally - _ugh,_ you absolute asshole - "

Dean just kept kissing him, and Castiel kept kissing him back.


	22. Deal

"What happened?" asked Castiel, when Dean finally let him come up for air.

"I made a deal with Death," Dean admitted. 

"Dean, _no_ ," said Castiel.

"Shut up a second, will ya?" asked Dean. "Death agreed, but he said it was up to me to get you back, an' he was just sendin' me back when he sent you. I dragged you out and onto the dock and what the fuck happened to your chest, by the way - "

"Dean, focus," said Castiel. "I didn't want to be saved."

"Well guess what, you deserve to be," said Dean. "Screw this self-sacrificing crap, Cas, we deal with this shit our own way and in our own time! Anyway, I did CPR and believe me that was not the way I wanted our next kiss - uh. Well. I really hammered on your chest there, buddy, think I might've broken a few ribs -"

"Why would you save half an angel?" Castiel interrupted. "Dean, I was _done._ I was ready."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't!" said Dean. "You don't get to waltz up to Heaven and give me everything I ever wanted and -"

He stopped, and swallowed, looking guilty and angry with himself for expressing emotions.

"I can't say I'm surprised," said a dry voice behind them. "This little merry-go-round never really ceases to amuse, does it. I could watch it happen forever, in many different ways."

Death was standing on the bank, calmly eating deep fried cheese curds out of the bag.

"But," he said, delicately wiping crumbs from his mouth, "I can't say that it would be good for the cosmic order to continue separating you."

"No more deals," said another voice. Sam was standing beside him. "Dean, are you listening to me?"

Sam looked around himself.

"Where the hell am I?" he asked.

Death sighed.

"While I find the three of you vastly entertaining, I simply cannot allow you to continue traipsing all over creation and tearing it up for each other."

Dean clung to Castiel and gave Sam a beseeching look.

"This is my family," said Dean. "I'll burn down Heaven if I have to."

"What about the others?" asked Death. "Your parents. Your friends?"

"They've had their reward," said Dean. "And like it or not, we are _not_ the same. The three of us."

"Indeed," Death agreed. "Then, what shall we do with you three? Sam, always wanting to leave. Dean, always making deals. Castiel, always seeking power, finding it, losing control of it."

Death stood there thinking for a while.

"Together, or not at all," he said. "Since I'm feeling generous today. Talk amongst yourselves. Final decision."

Sam looked at Dean and Castiel.

"Look, I've always been at odds with you guys," said Sam. "I always wanted different things -"

"There are dinosaurs, Sam," said Castiel abruptly.

Sam stared at him.

"Dinosaurs?" he said, a little hopeful tilt in his voice.

"People have them as pets," Castiel said.

Sam's eyes could've bugged out of his head.

"What?" demanded Dean. "Didn't these people watch _Jurassic Park_?"

"Every day," said Castiel. "It's on PBS. Educational channel."

"Well, Sammy," said Dean. "Dinosaurs. What do you say?"

"Can I get one?"

Dean rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Sure," he said. "Keep it out of the Impala."

Death nodded.

"Legends it is, then," he said. "A reminder - this is my _final_ offer. Understood?"

Castiel, Sam, and Dean looked at each other, and then at him.

They nodded.

"Understood."

"Then I will take my leave," said Death. "Remember our deal, Dean. I don't want you welshing."

Dean nodded.

"I promise," he said, and Death was gone.

They stood there, uncertain for a moment.

"What now?" asked Sam.

"I suggest we go somewhere," said Castiel, "with less leeches."

" _Leeches_?" said Dean in disgust. "Man, I hate those things."

"You'd _really_ hate the kind they have here."

"Cas, you still have Baby," said Dean, "right?"

Cas smiled.

"Of course I do," he said.

Dean smiled, and took his hand.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he said. "Let's go. I'm dyin' to drive."


	23. Christmas

The scent of cookies baking made Castiel's mouth water.

He had never been much for human food, but he loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apparently also Christmas cookies. They had pleasing molecules.

Their house - _because they had a house_ \- had enough Christmas decorations that Sam had made fun of Dean for putting them up. Even Castiel, willing to let Dean do just about anything to his own detriment and that of the world around him, said, "Don't you think this is a little much?"

"No," said Dean. "It's _festive._ Jeez."

And then had baked what seemed like an endless round of cookies.

"Keep him outta the kitchen, willya, he's gonna eat everything in sight," Dean complained, pushing Satchmo out the door gently with his foot.

"Dean, he's a _herbivore,_ " Sam said. "He doesn't want any of your food!"

Satchmo hooted up at Dean sadly. Dean softened a little.

"It's okay, bud," said Dean. "I still love you, I just don't want to trample you."

He looked up to see his brother giving him a sappy look.

"All right, show's over," he said, and the door swung to.

Satchmo was an _Albertadromeus syntarsus,_ the smallest dinosaur available, but he did tend to get in the way during mealtimes just like any other pet.

Castiel smiled at the brothers and leaned back against the wall in the kitchen, grabbing a Spritz cookie and putting it in his mouth.

"You better not be eating the cookies," said Dean. "You're going to ruin your dinner."

Castiel just shook his head, then waited until Dean had turned around again and chewed quickly. When he had swallowed the rest of the cookie, he spoke.

"You seem very preoccupied, Dean," said Castiel. "I'm sure everything you make will be delicious. I'm not sure what Sam is going to think, since there's almost no healthy food here -"

"Hey," protested Dean. "Turkey is healthy!"

"Dean."

Dean sighed.

"I just want everything to be perfect," he said. "It's important."

Sam chose that moment to enter the kitchen.

"Dean, why are you making jalapeno poppers?" he asked. "Those aren't Christmassy."

"They are if I say they are," said Dean. "New tradition. New house. New everything. I won't invite you over next year."

"Whoa, hey," said Sam. "Just asking. What's eating you?"

"Nothin'," mumbled Dean. "C'mon, outta the kitchen. Out, out, out! Take Satch for a walk if you want, I gotta concentrate."

Castiel and Sam were shooed out into the dining room where Satchmo happily bounded up to Sam.

It had been strange, and new, but ... nice.

They didn't hunt all that much anymore. He and Dean had taken things slowly, which had been a bit of a surprise after the kinds of things Castiel had imagined them doing. But he kept it to himself out of respect.

"Anythin' that's worth doin' is worth doin' right, Cas," said Dean. "You're worth waitin' for."

Castiel was surprised, given Dean's history, and said so.

"That's 'cause you're different, Cas," said Dean, and he blushed so furiously that his freckles stood out against the pinking of his skin.

So Castiel didn't ask for an explanation, and he didn't push. The most he'd shared with Dean so far were kisses.

But Castiel was an angel, once upon a time, and Castiel was willing to wait.

"Okay," Dean announced. "Okay, I think it's ready. You guys wanna come help me bring it all out?"

Sam and Castiel went back into the kitchen and started ferrying everything out onto the table. There was so much food and drink there was barely room enough for plates.

"Think you got enough butter here, Dean?" Sam asked as Satchmo bounced around his feet.

"I might've gone a little overboard," Dean admitted.

"You think?"

"Splendid."

They all turned to look at the new voice that had joined them.

Death sat in one of the chairs. Dean stood there with a casserole dish full of potatoes dauphinoise.

"What are you doing here?" asked Sam.

"Collecting on our deal, of course," said Death, tucking a napkin into his collar.

"Dean - "

"No -"

Death looked at them wearily, and then at Dean.

"I take it you never told them?" he asked. 

Dean, wordless, shook his head.

Death sighed.

"Take a seat," he said to Sam and Castiel. They did as they were told.

"Now, then," he continued. "Dean and I share a love of the finer things in life. So the deal was: he cooks Christmas dinner this year."

Castiel and Sam, both on tenterhooks, looked at Dean, and then at Death.

"Wait," said Sam. "Is that why all this stuff is here? Nobody has deep fried cheese curds at Christmas."

"They do in Wisconsin," said Dean, defensively.

"That was it?" asked Castiel. "That was the deal?"

Dean nodded.

"Then why are you acting so nervous?" demanded Sam.

"Having the father-in-law over for Christmas dinner?" asked Death. "Most would be nervous, I'd imagine. But since Dean and I have similar taste in food, I'm sure it's fine."

He took his fork and stabbed a jalapeno popper, putting it into his mouth and chewing contemplatively.

"Delicious."

Everyone was staring at him. Then he gestured at the table.

"Please," said Death, "Eat! I'm sure Dean would appreciate it."

And so their strange little family enjoyed Christmas dinner together.

***

"Well, I must be on my way," said Death. "Thank you for a delicious Christmas dinner, Dean. You've outdone yourself."

"Uh. Thanks," said Dean. "Do you want us to, uh. Call you God, by the way?"

Death smiled.

"Goodness me, no," he said. "I don't stand on ceremony. Death is just fine."

"O - okay, Death," said Dean.

Death turned to Castiel.

"And you, my most favored son," he said. "You did what others would not. And I feel, since it's Christmas, you should be rewarded."

Death laid a hand on Castiel's arm.

"Welcome back to the Host, Castiel," said Death. "I've also left Dean a little present. Well, let's call it a present for you both."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, confused.

Then Death looked at Sam.

"Keep it up with the salads," he said. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

And in that split second, Death was gone.


	24. Family

Castiel bowed his head.

This time, he was prepared for the pain.

Great black wings unfurled from his back, the shadows dwarfing him.

"Whoa."

Dean's reverent tone, the touch of his hand.

"Hey - what - "

And Castiel knew, without looking, that those golden wings would be there, brilliant and beautiful.

But of course, he had to look, and was delighted in their luminescent beauty.

"Come with me, Dean," said Castiel. "Let me show you a new kind of heaven."

Dean, uncertain and wordless, put his hand in Castiel's and followed him.

***

In bed, Castiel worshipped Dean as he had often longed to do, his mouth on his body, at the joints of the wings, at the place where he was weeping oil from his back, confused but trusting Castiel not to let him fall.

Castiel, for his part, was still falling, lost to the delight of his desire, immersed in the love he was sharing with Dean now, his hands grasping at handfuls of feathers as Dean cried out for him again and again. 

"You are the world to me, Dean Winchester," whispered Castiel, and his forehead leaned against Dean's as he threaded their fingers together, moving with him on their bed for the first time.

Dean, senseless, flying, falling, and Castiel caught him as he arched upward on a shout with Castiel's hands buried deep in the feathers of his right wing, giving all of himself to the angel.

"I love you," said Castiel, and followed him, his orgasm joined by a bruising, final kiss.

They collapsed together, Dean's wings vanishing forever, Castiel's just for the time being, as they shared langorous, sleepy kisses and Dean fell asleep beneath the angel's ministrations.

Castiel would watch over him.

***

The movie was boring, and the brothers had long since dozed off. 

Sam was in an armchair, his head thrown back as he snored lightly at the ceiling.

Dean had fallen asleep curled into Castiel's side. Satchmo's head was resting on Dean's lap, and he was snortling gently in his sleep, sitting on the couch where he definitely was not allowed to be.

Castiel, awake, Castiel, the sentinel, Castiel, the seraph, Castiel, angel of the Lord -

pulled a blanket over Dean and Satchmo, and settled back to enjoy the one thing that all those billions of years, all that power, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the wealth of the heavens had never given him, something no other angel had ever had:

a family.


	25. Author's Note

This story was partly inspired by two favorites of mine, the movie _Stay_ and _Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge._

The leech monsters are a complete invention.

Thank you for reading :)


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